AN UNKNOWN COBBLER BOY

“Sir, polish”, the boy was shouting at the top of his voice. I looked through the corner of my eye and saw a boy sitting on the pavement and glee-fully watching at my shoes.

I was passing by him on my way to a restaurant for the break-fast. The place was Karol Bagh in New Delhi. I was with my wife and we were on a sightseeing tour. The sightseeing was planned as an added attraction to the main purpose of our tour, which was for my wife to attend a two days National Conference on “Innovations in Educational Administration”, scheduled to be held at Vigyan Bhawan. She was also to receive the national award in recognition of her meritorious service as an Educational Officer. She was required to remain at a hostel arranged by the organizers. We planned to start our trip three days in advance, so that the sightseeing could be completed before the main agenda of our visit.

Without paying any attention to the boy, I passed by.

“Sir, your shoes….”, He was again shouting. I looked back and found that he had stood up by now and was looking at me trying to draw my attention. He was pointing his hand at my shoes. I could not make out clearly what he was shouting, as his voice drowned in the buzzing sound of the traffic and the people.

I had polished my shoes well, before I started my trip. I had no intention to get them polished during the trip. A little bit of dusting out with some cloth or a paper would be sufficient, I had decided. Therefore I had not carried the polish and brush.

Two days were over and I knew that the shining of my shoes might have dampened a little. But, what did it matter? Who bothers about the shining of your shoes, or as a matter fact your dress or anything that concerns you, in a big city like this? You have no one known to you to even inadvertently tease you on that count.

We entered into the restaurant. The restaurant was air-conditioned and the breakfast was delicious. What was not so delicious was the bill for it. A tea itself was charged forty rupees. I had experienced that the food cost was quite high in Delhi hotels. But we were on a tour and we had to spend as required. One had to be very careful on the food while on a tour. Being miser and looking up for cheap hotels could cause abdominal problems, spoil your tour and land you up in spending more money to the doctor than what you intended to save. I had such an experience during an earlier tour to Chennai. Experience teaches. One can be miser on anything, but not on food.

As we came out of the restaurant, the boy was standing before us blocking our way. Dirtier was his attire and appearance than my shoes.

“Sir, see for yourself. The sole on one side of your left shoe has opened up”. He pointed to me the place where my shoe has opened up from the sole. I turned my leg a bit and saw that what he said was right. I considered over it for a moment. The tour bus I had got arranged would leave in another 15 minutes. The seats were booked. I had no time to wait for this boy to repair my shoes. I decided that I would get it repaired after reaching back in the evening. Till that time, I would manage to hold on to it. I told him so.

“Sir, it would definitely open up further and you would not be able to hold on to it till evening”, the boy warned. I remained confused.

“In two minutes, I can stitch it up and give you”, he said suggesting the solution.

“Okay, but how much will you charge for it?” I asked.

“Only thirty rupees”, the boy answered.  Less than the cost of a tea, I thought.

“Then do it fast”, I gave him the work instantly.

In two minutes, he did it. Then he showed me another two places where the sole was slowly opening up with its adhesiveness being lost.

“Shall I stitch them too?” the boy asked.

 I didn’t want to look miserly to that poor boy, as also I didn’t expect him to charge exorbitantly. He was doing fast. So, I allowed him without asking again on his work cost.

“How much now?” I asked, when he finished.

“Ninety rupees, sir.  I have stitched at three places”, he replied logically.

I took out a hundred rupee note. The bill for the breakfast was two hundred eighty rupees. I had left three hundred rupees on the platter and did not wait for the balance twenty to be brought back. That was a common practice. I should be a common among the commons. If I waited for the twenty, I was sure that the supplier would curse me from his heart; even if not openly.

The boy was in a much worse situation than the supplier. I gave him a hundred and did not wait for him to return the ten.

I was about to move, when the boy returned the balance and pointed at my other shoe. “That also is opening up”, he cautioned. “It is better if you change both soles. I will get it ready by tomorrow morning”, he suggested.

“And what will I wear today when I travel?” I asked disapprovingly.

“You can wear my slippers sir”, he replied and removed his over-sized slippers for me to wear. Those were a pair of old dirty worn out rubber slippers far worse than my shoes. I looked at his face. He was laughing. Was he mocking at me or was it his innocence?

The time was already running out. I was growing impatient. I just told him that we would see to it later. The bus was ready and waiting. People were getting in. We occupied our seats.

That evening, we were required to go to the hostel where my wife was to be put up for the next two days. After the sightseeing, we reached back a little late and immediately I hired a taxi and took her to the hostel. I returned to the room where I was to stay alone for the next two days.

Instead of sitting idle in the room for two days, I decided to spend my time roaming in the city, traveling in metro and buses. On the second day evening, I was walking down the road from Karol Bagh Metro station to our hotel which was just a kilometer away. My wife had rung up and told me that I need not go to pick her up as the organizers had arranged a taxi for her safe return to the hotel. I was walking briskly to be in time to reach the hotel to receive her, when someone tapped at my back.

The cobbler boy was all in smiles and struggling to walk along with me. On an impulsive instinct and to acknowledge my recognizing him, I put my hand over his shoulder.

“Sir, I can stitch your other shoe also and you can be comfortable while walking”, he said.

“How come you are here now? You were sitting in front of the restaurant”, I asked him.

“That is only till noon sir. In the afternoon I move to the pavement of the road to the metro station”, he replied. “I saw you walking down and then I followed”, he explained.

“Where is your home?”, I asked an unnecessary question, because I could easily make out the answer from his looks itself.

“I sleep on the pavement only sir”, he replied.

“Your parents?” I put another inconvenient question. I cursed myself for asking irrelevant questions to him. Why was I asking all that? Why should I not leave him free?

 “I don’t know.”, the boy replied.

“Sir, your shoes”, he was trying to bring back my attention to his main agenda; struggling to walk in quick steps to be with me. For reasons unknown, I had begun to like him.

“No time now, dear. More over, I have decided to buy a new pair”, I said and took out a hundred rupee note. "Think that you have stitched it", I said pushing the note to him.

“No sir, I do not want it that way”, he said. I could see the disappointment flashing on his face.

Before I could tell anything, he was already on his way back.

Hardly had I put a few steps more, when I felt that I shouldn’t have disappointed the boy. He had walked along with me all that distance expecting a work.  I turned around to look for him. I could see him still, at a distance. In quick long strides, I began to follow him.

I put my right leg on his shoe stand, as he was again settling down behind it.

He looked up at me and his face glowed.

“Be fast, please”, I requested.

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SURGING MEMORIES

Always in a dark kitchen, engulfed in smoke and blowing her chest out to make a fire on a few logs. That is the early image of her in my mind. I, a kid then, would be behind her back, moving along with her as she moved from one place to the other. She would often scold me for lingering in the kitchen and ask me to go out and play. But I would stick on; rather cling on to her sari. For, she was the only one to listen and care me.

Once in my childhood, I fell down from the stairs and due to the swelling on my face I was unable to open my eyes. I don’t remember how long she had been sitting on a bench near a window with me on her lap, and softly washing my eyes with cloth dipped in coriander water, again and again. It was the only treatment she knew and she could afford then. But what I do remember is the way I shouted gladly and loudly when I opened my eyes, “Mother, I can see the sky now”.

I used to accompany her to the nearby stream where she went to wash the clothes.  I would swim around in the stream while she washed. Even when I came on leave after joining the military, I used to go with her to enjoy swimming in the stream splashing water all around. It was during one such round she told me, that had it not been for us children, she would have ended up her life long back. She was beginning to find a listener in me to shed her past sorrows.

I wanted her to see a little of the world outside the kitchen. So, I took her once to Cochin, one of the beautiful places to see nearby.  Her younger sister was staying there with family during those days. Her sister’s husband worked in the shipyard and took us along and showed all that was there for us to see in Cochin. On another occasion, I took her to the temple at Guruvayur. Seldom did she get time to make such little trips. She would always be busy with household works. That was more important to her, but I would manage to take her out whenever possible. It might be for a popular film, or an exhibition show or sometimes to nearby temples. My favourite place in home was the kitchen. I used to assist her in the kitchen works and also in washing laundry. Any food cooked by her was delicious to me.

She was the only one to share my anxiety when, at a time, my future went in dilemma. She was the only one to value my sentiments when I decided on my life partner. She held back nothing to herself at any time and allowed all that she had, to be at the disposal of her children. It was their wishes she always kept in the forefront of her mind.

In her later years, she always stayed with me. I had often the feeling that it was me among her children that she preferred to be with. I was rather proud of having her with me. She would always be there in the veranda to see me off whenever I go out and also to receive me whenever I came back. She had been happily living with us, until the nasty disease began to eat her brain cells. The effect of it had been already detailed in my write-up titled ‘Fading Memory’.

Why did it happen to her? Many had asked. I had pondered over it several times. But I am still groping in the dark. I can only make assumptions. The only real answer to it, I feel, is fate. It is not only her fate, but mine too.

In my earlier write-up, I had stated that her mind is an ocean of roaring waves. The waves had later subsided. It became a calm sea. A sea of eternal tranquility.

She remained unconscious for more than a month before she breathed her last, four days ago. The only feeling I have is that she is now completely relieved from her illness.

I may not be able to see her any more, but I know that she is with me and will remain with me for ever.

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TRYING TIMES

TRYING TIMES

(In continuation to ‘Fading Memory’)

I am writing this on 21^st of September, the World Alzheimer’s day. Today’s newspaper carried special articles on the disease by eminent and experienced persons. People who are not directly affected or experienced its horrors might have skipped the pages. But, I read each and every word in them. Because I have a patient at home and I am passing through its nightmares. I wanted to know better about it.

Two months are over, since my mother got discharged from the hospital after her hip operation. She remains in bed, with a home nurse to attend. Food is given in liquid form. She had been taken to the hospital  four times for medical reviews, each time by ambulance. The last time, the doctor said that her bones are perfectly joined  and that she can be allowed to walk. I replied that I am afraid to let her walk again as she is certain to fall.

“That is your choice, but as for the hip she is perfectly well”, the doctor made his part clear.

The damage to her brain is the real cause of her fall and it only continues to get further deteriorated with the passage of time. For an exercise to her legs, we began to make her sit on a wheel chair while serving food. At times, we would support her to stand for a while. But, that is all. No risk of walking.

Her mind is an ocean of roaring waves. It is as if she wanted to get up, run about and do many things, as earlier. Even psychiatric sedatives at the prescribed doses fail to calm her mind. She would keep on throwing her hip and legs up, sometimes hitting the wall and causing sores on her heels. I often wonder from where she gets the strength to move her body so violently. Sores began to appear on her back too. Every day the sores are washed and medicines applied. But the sores do not get healed because of her frequent movements which further injure the injuries. It is only while sleeping that she remains peaceful. Today we took her to the bathroom in the wheel chair for a complete bath after an oil massaging. Her skin is too soft and easily susceptible to sores.

In order to protect her body from bed sores, we have made her to lie over a water-bed. Earlier, when the food is served while on bed itself, she had to be lifted up and supported from behind for which someone sits behind her back on her bed.

A few days ago, my wife was standing behind my mother’s bed watching her. Suddenly she felt that the flat portion of the cot was beginning to move towards her. The water filled in the bed also began to exert pressure towards her end as one of the legs of the cot there began to crumble. Somehow she managed to hold the cot supported with her thighs and hands and called out for me. In a moment, the nurse lifted my mother up and laid her on another bed which was nearby. I supported the cot for my wife to take out her leg from under. I slowly put the cot down and saw that one of the legs has developed a crack due to which the cot collapsed, unable to withstand the weight of the water-bed. This caused severe pain and swelling on my wife’s legs, but it didn’t affect mother any way. She was unhurt. My wife got her pain and swelling relieved in two days, but of course after doing necessary massaging and heat treatments. It might not have been the weight of water-bed alone, but the weight of person sitting behind mother to feed her also that caused the leg to develop the crack and give way.

I took the cot to a furniture shop to get it repaired. The carpenter agreed. Next day, I thought of getting it modified to provide for two wooden shields at both sides, so that mother won’t fall from it even if she rolls in the bed. I thought that this could also be got done since the cot was any way under repair with the carpenter. Earlier the practice was to keep sufficient pillows on one side with another cot nearby. There was the wall to take care of the other side. This modification would allow me to keep her cot independent and comfortable.

To give necessary directions to the carpenter, I took off on my bike. The shop was on the other side of the road from the direction of my drive and I had to cross the road which has a divider in the center. The divider has gaps in between through which bikers and auto drivers often take the turn or cross the road. But, one has to be careful for the oncoming vehicles from the other side of the road. I slowed down and lighted the indicator of my bike to show that I intend to turn right. I stopped my bike close to the divider with the front turned a little to cross, waiting for a space from the oncoming vehicles which kept on coming one after the other. Suddenly, I felt a jerk and instantly I was thrown up from the bike. Up in the air and out on the road, I fell. In the moment when I was in the air, I looked back to see what had happened. I found that a huge truck had hit my bike on the backside. In that moment when I was in the air, many thoughts crossed my mind. Later, I was surprised at how so many thoughts went through my mind in that split of a moment, like a sophisticated computer accepting and analyzing different data all at once. Let me now recollect those thoughts one after the other.

My first thought was on my imminent death. The moment I saw the truck behind, I decided that I was going to die. That was because I remembered what a friend of mine who claimed to know palmistry told me 17 years ago. Looking at my palm he had said, “Sixty plus”.

“What do you mean?” I had asked.

“It means you would survive to get your pension, but you won’t remain to receive it for long”, he explained.

I laughed. I was 45 then. 15 years were too long a period for me then. Not only that, I didn’t much believe in palmistry. But even then, his words remained in a nook of my mind.

About forty years ago, he had earlier predicted that I would have to lie in jail. I was a little scared, even though I didn’t believe it. I reminded him of that and said that I was never in jail so far.

“Did you not get a posting once to a distant island?” He queried. He had known of that. “An island is like a jail. Your palm said that you would be under confinement. Your movements are restricted when you are in an island. That could be the one seen on your palm”, he reasoned.

I had been to Port Blair Island once and I had visited the jail there. It was the jail where our freedom fighters were deported. One portion of the jail complex was still used and there were inmates. But the other portion, where the freedom fighters were put, remained like a memorial and was open to the public. It was a cellular jail and each freedom fighter was put in solitary confinement. I did enter in the cell where Veer Savarkar, one of the well-known freedom fighters, languished his days. There was hardly any space left on the floor, when a person lies down. The walls were tall. A ventilator far above was the only access for air to enter the cell, when the door is closed. One can simply imagine what a harsh life he might have undergone there. There were many scribbling on the wall which he might have made in his solitude. I remembered my friend’s words that I would have to lie in jail. I thought I would take the opportunity to regularise that part of my fate. I stretched my back on the floor of the cellular jail where Savarkarjee had lain once.

I had been daily reading a lot of accident cases in the newspapers. Where bikers are involved, they often die. I am hit by a huge truck and I feared that the same fate would befall on me too. This was also a reason for my first thought that I was going to die.

My next thought was on my mother. I wondered whether my wife would be able to take care of her and at the same time manage her job too. I was bewildered also on how my wife and children would take my sudden absence. And finally, I thought that I should have told my wife the name of the furniture shop where I had given the cot for repair. I firmly felt that it was my last moment. It was like I had still things to do, but no time left for any.

I know that it would be hard for anyone to believe that all these thoughts crossed my mind in that split of a moment when I was in the air. But I can only tell what I experienced in that moment.

Nothing untoward happened. I just fell down on all the four like a cat, with my head and helmet on it well high from the ground. Fortunately, the flow of vehicles from the other side had ceased to give way for me to fall. It was a miraculous escape. Within no time, people gathered around. By the time I got up, the traffic police with their vehicle also arrived at the scene. I looked at my bike. It was lying underneath the front portion of the truck. I had a little bit of bruises and scratches here and there, but nothing serious. No bone broken. No fractures. I expected death, but there I was well and alive.

The driver in the truck was still on his seat. I requested him to take the truck a little back so that I can pull my bike. He did so and someone lifted the bike up for me. “The bike is totally damaged”, commented one. “So, what? He is still alive and in one piece. Forget about the bike”, commented another. The police officer was ready with his writing materials to take down my statement. He asked me whether I had any complaint. What complaints I should have when my life is back to me? I replied to the officer in negative.

The bike body was heavily damaged, but the engine remained fine. I got on it and rode back to home. There were bleedings from my fingers, knees and elbows. All were only small bruises. I got them washed and plastered. Seeing the bleeding, the maid at our home asked me the reason and I said that I fell from the bike. I didn’t tell her that a truck had hit my bike, because I didn’t want my wife to know about the accident at all as she would be upset. But our maid went out to see the bike and came back.

“In fact, what happened?” she questioned me again.

“I told you that I had fallen from the bike”, I replied.

“That is not all. The back side of your bike is crushed. Probably you had been hit down by a vehicle. Your bruises on both the knees are on the front side, which shows that you have not fallen sideways.”, she argued.

I looked at her and thought that she should have been a member of a crime investigation team instead of sweeping my courtyard.

I told her all the facts and requested not to disclose them to my wife. My wife had also been going through bad times and I didn’t want to burden her further. I rode the bike to the service station.

Back at home, I was deeply engrossed on the misfortunes that are falling on our lives one after the other. While being so, I didn’t notice my wife coming and stealing a snap of me on that. The questions followed later. I couldn’t resist her probes for long and I told her everything that happened. She listened in silence.

“This must be the ‘sixty plus’ my palmist friend had read on my palm”, I consoled her.

When I later went to collect the cot, the owner of the furniture shop said that he had seen the whole incident through his glass door. It happened right in front of him. I asked him the details of how it happened. He said that the truck had slowed down and was about to proceed through my left, when suddenly its driver noted that an auto-rickshaw was overtaking it by its left side. By the time he straightened and applied brakes, the truck had hit me.

“It is simply the strength of your life-line, or else you wouldn’t have been talking to me now”, he said.

Even now I wonder on whether I am dead or alive. Who knows on how death is felt? Could it be that I am dead for others, but remain alive for myself? Who is certain of the difference between life and death? After all, what one knows of death can only be that when he himself comes to experience.

May be, my mind is going crazy.

- - - - -

FADING MEMORY

The fall was unseen by any one.  It was at twilight. The threat of a heavy rain was looming large in the sky. I was just out to pick up my wife from the bus stand. She had been held up late due to some urgent works at her office. I was back with my wife soon. The rain and the darkness had fallen down by then. As I drove my car to our courtyard, the headlight showed our maid struggling to lift up my mother. It was my mother who had fallen. When we entered our home, the maid narrated the incident.

I had said that the fall was unseen. But it can not be said that the fall was unexpected. I had feared for long that it would happen.

My mother had been behaving abnormally for the last eight years. I realized that she had some psychic problems when she started talking of things unseen as seen and sound unheard as heard. She would often turn out to be very frightful as she saw people grabbing her things from her room. I had a tough time to pacify her fears. One day she came out from the bathroom fully naked. She stood before me with water dripping from all over her body and complained to me that she can not bath peacefully as people were taking away her things from her room while she was bathing. It was then that I decided to take her for a psychic consultation.

What astounded me was the way she presented herself before the psychiatrist. No one would say that she was abnormal. I explained in detail her behaviour to the psychiatrist.  I said that she was having hallucinations often. My mother answered cheerfully to the questions put to her. She was 85 then. Finally, the doctor informed that she was losing her memory. Her brain cells were decaying. The medicines prescribed were for washing away her hallucinations. The decay of the cells would continue and it was informed that in two or three years, she would lose her sense for excretions.

The medicine had its effect. The hallucinations slowly faded away. But, she began to lose her memory at a faster pace. She would complain that she didn’t have the food, even when she had it abundant. She lost her sense of hunger at all. If food is given, she would eat it endlessly. If not given, she would not ask for it at all. She had to be told of it and taken if she was to wash or bath. A personal attention was found to be inevitable, and I hired the service of a home nurse. But she wouldn’t co-operate or allow her to do anything for her. That apart, she would at times behave very rudely. At other times, she would be very pleasant and talk lovingly. I knew that her moods were unsteady as was her memory. No one stayed for long. I tried with many, but no one could tolerate her. There was only one man whom she would obey and listen to always, and that was me. She would often take me for my father and that could be the reason for obeying me. Once a visitor, knowing that she is suffering of Alzheimer’s disease, asked her who I was and she promptly replied that I was her husband. I looked exactly like my father.  She wouldn’t listen to any one in the house except me. She was unreceptive even to my wife. Therefore, I personally began to attend to all her daily needs.

Sexual aberration is said to be one effect of the dirty disease. I read so in an article on it. It is found to be true in my mother’s case. Her hands would often extend to the bosoms and buttocks of women who go closer and that included my wife too. At night, when every body slept, she would get up and walk around. It was at that time she would find something to be packed up. She would remove the pillow from its cover and fill the cover with some cloths. She would go to the kitchen and throw around the kitchen wares here and there. She began to have the hallucinations again but not the fear from it. I was afraid that she would fall while walking in the night and therefore, I kept my cot close to hers and slept. The room wall would be at the other side of her cot. She would get up at odd times; but when she finds me lying nearby, she would again lie down. For the last two years, I had been sleeping by her side. I would never know whether she was feeling hot and the fan is to be switched on. On rainy days, I had to guess that she would be feeling cold and put a blanket on her. She would never say as she had lost her sensitivity to the outside world. She failed to recognize even close relatives. But, she kept a cheerful face to all those who visited us.

When night actions stopped, she started doing irrelevant and unnecessary things during the day. She would move the chairs from their places and put them in different places she liked. If the chair is heavy, she would drag it. She could not remain steady even for a moment while standing and would keep on shifting her feet. When sitting, her body would keep on moving forward and back. She could not sit for long in one chair and would keep on shifting her seat from one to the other. She would pick up what ever she can lay hands on and smash it hardly on a stool or a table. The television set could not be switched on, as she would aim to hit the people on the screen. Meanwhile, what the doctor predicted also began. She started passing her excretions everywhere, without her knowing it. Sometimes, she would herself pick up her solid excretions and throw it out through the window grills. Without knowing anything, she would again sit on a chair and shift from chair to chair, giving us work to clean the chairs, cushions and floors. Minimum two were required to handle her during such times. One had to be engaged in removing her dress, cleaning her and putting on new dress while the other had to clean the whole area. She would be very resistive to changing her dress and cleaning her and it would be a tough work for the person doing that.

She always walked with unsteady steps and I tried several times to teach her to walk with the walker which I had bought for her. She would never remember it and walk freely with unsteady steps. The excretions could also cause slipping, if not noticed and dried in time. The fall was imminent and expected. Or else, I would have to keep her tied.

Recently she found a new activity of slamming the doors. She would come out of her room and pull the door with its handle to slam it shut. It was with great force that she did it. At times, she would come to the veranda and slam the door to the house with extreme force. The sound itself would proclaim the force behind it.

Our maid heard the slamming of the front door on that day. She came and opened the door immediately and found that my mother had fallen down. Her head was forcefully hit to the grills of the veranda. There was a cut on the head through which blood oozed out.

I rang up my younger brother to come to the hospital where I took her in the car. The injury on the head had to be stitched and she complained of pain near the hips. There was no swelling and we thought that the pain would only be due to the fall. The x-ray unit at the hospital was closed and therefore we waited for the next day to take up the x-ray which confirmed a fracture near the left hip. The doctor said that the fall need not be the cause of fracture. The bone was so weak and could have fractured by itself and caused the fall. The slamming of the door must have upset her balance and caused the fracture, sometimes. The fracture was operated upon and set right.

The trauma for us did not end there. My wife and I were staying at the hospital during the treatment period. My younger brother would come to assist us during day time. One day during the stay, my wife fell down in the bathroom while trying to open up a tight tap. The tap got broken and her face was hit to the sharp end of the broken tap which caused a severe cut on her left cheek. The cut was deep and had to be stitched. She is on the verge of retirement and this would remain a visible identification mark on her face hereafter, to be shown in her pension papers. Earlier, in my story ‘Identity mistaken’, I had written how the scar on the left cheek which appeared scary to me at first became a symbol of love and friendship. The paradox of a cut scar on the left cheek to be a stamp mark of love repeats itself to me again.

On the night of discharge from the hospital, my mother played a mischief again. In the dead of night, she managed to raise her hand and pulled out the bandages. She was weak and tired and no one expected her to do such a thing. A home nurse was engaged for her from the hospital itself as she would be bed-ridden for days to come. But, what mother did was beyond anyone’s guess. In the morning, the wounds opened up and I had to rush her again for a stitch. It was again stapled, bandaged and special care is now taken to see that her hands do not reach to the bandage. I can not allow her to walk again, even after the wound gets healed. By walking, she is certain to fall again. She is 90 now.

I had thought that cancer is the most dreadful of diseases. Now I know for sure that it is not as disastrous as the Alzheimer’s disease. Disasters sometimes come united and together. Those are times when I lose my faith in God.

- - - - - -

MY BEST FRIEND

He was my closest friend. We were of the same age. Whenever there was a problem, we would discuss it together and find a solution. He was me and I was him. There was nothing that I could keep away from him. We were very close to one another and always longed to see each other.

One day, I found him deeply engrossed in thoughts. I woke him up from his thoughts and enquired what exactly was he so deeply thinking about.

“It is something which I should not be bothering about right now. But I will have to, later.”, he replied.

“Speak out clearly to me man. To whom else can you confide your mind?”, I prompted.

“That is true. It is about my marriage that I was thinking about”, he said.

“Last week only you said that you completed 25 years. Still there are many years ahead for it. Why do you think about it now?”, I queried.

“Marriage would always be an expensive affair. Unless one plans in advance, he won’t have the money for it”, he explained.

“No man, your parents would think of it and take care of it. You need not bother much about it now”, I tried to pacify him.

“No dear. My parents are quite unlikely to think of it in the near future. Our house construction itself is only half done. Their priority would be to complete it first”, he pointed out.

“That is natural. Let it be completed and then only they can think about the marriage of their children. By the way, how many brothers and sisters you have?”, I asked.

“Only one sister, but she had been married off long back when we were staying in our ancestral home”, he replied.

“And what about your brothers?”, I enquired.

“Elder one is employed and he is already pressing my parents for his marriage. The younger one is still studying”, he answered.

“That means you have one more waiting above you. So, let the house construction be over and then let his marriage also be over. Then only your parents can think about yours”, I explained.

“But my elder brother says that he has already attained the age for marriage and has with him the money also to meet the expense for it. He doesn’t want to wait till the completion of the house construction. All that he wanted from parents is that they should co-operate and conduct his marriage for him”, he said.

“But when would be the house construction completed? Should it not be done first?” I asked.

“That is true. But there is a point in what he says. If he is to wait for the construction to be over, his age would run much forward and he would miss his prime youth before his marriage. In fact, he seems to me very logical and practical”, he justified his brother.

“Sure. But what did your parents say for that?”, I queried.

“They had to agree. That is their duty. House construction may take years”, he quipped.

“But he needs a room to stay with his wife”, I pointed out.

“He had taken care of that. Construction of one room is already completed. He says that he can use that room”, he said.

“He is not only logical and practical, but clever too”, I remarked.

“I do not want to lag behind. I feel that I should also think on that line”, he said.

“What do you mean?”, I questioned him suspiciously.

“If I also save money for my marriage and put forward the same argument, my parents would not be in a position to refuse”, he explained.

“But what about completing the house construction man?”, I asked.

“That can wait. Marriages should be in time, you see. Age won’t wait.”, He reasoned.

“But, have you saved for your marriage? You had been sending all the left out balance to your home so far”, I asked.

“That is what I had been thinking on. I think I should stop sending money and save it for my own marriage”, he declared his thoughts.

“Good idea. But where will you sleep with your wife, if you do not have another room constructed in your unfinished home?”, I asked.

“I have to sleep somewhere any way and my wife can also sleep by my side. It is not important to have a room. After all, I would be in home only for a few days, while on leave”, he replied.

Later, he said that his brother’s marriage had been fixed and that he was going on leave to attend it.

*     *     *     *     *

When he came back from leave, he said that his brother’s marriage function went off well.

“When are you going to have yours?”, I asked.

“I had already suggested to my parents that I would also like to get married during my next year leave”, he replied.

“And what did your parents say?”, I asked.

“They put to me the same question you asked, that where would I sleep with my wife. And I gave them the same reply I gave you”, he said.

“And did they agree?” I asked.

“Not yet. But they will have to, because they can’t show disparity between the sons”, he explained.

“And what does your brother say”, I asked.

“He is already thinking of building a home for him and his wife. He is no more concerned about anything else”, he replied.

“Then what about your house construction?”, I asked.

“Yes. I would also think of constructing a home for me and my wife. But, let my marriage be over first”, he replied.

“Not that. I am asking about the construction of the home you are staying now.”, I corrected him.

“That is my parent’s home. They should have planned it well before and built it. They should not just pass over their burdens and responsibilities on our shoulders. If we take up all that, our children would also meet the same fate as us”, he justified.

*     *     *     *     *

He got married as he planned.

When he returned after the marriage, I asked him how his wife was.

“She is a true friend, indeed. But you are always my best friend”, he conceded.

“But, why?”, I asked.

“Because you are me and I am you”, he replied cheerfully. Laughing heartily, I turned away from my room mirror and walked out.

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