Only
change is constant is a phrase we all have heard many a times and used it
liberally too. We do experience this day in day out some time these changes are
faster and sometime slower but for sure knowing or unknowing change is there.
I
am coping with one of them and this one was too faster than my anticipation.
Hold on! Just realised it is as per my anticipation rather the handling part of
this change is bit lagging.
I
had been bad in house hold work and bad is largely an understated statement out
here. To ready myself I have to brace with work first, working in two time
zones. These two time zones are overlapping for few hours and that’s a
relief.Always been driven around the
city now have to find my way on mesh of public transport. Anything vegetarian is
a luxury to ask for and hence no more cribbing for the avid food lover like me,
learning cooking was not rocket science at least the basic ones but cooking
after the day’s work is a donkey job. When
I did hear the house rent and started comparing I could see myself renting a
palace or at least a large villa back home.
Finally
while at the comforts of a taxi one fine day I used my recently acquired Galaxy
note 2 to key in few line as below:
I write this
article for ISM Literary club (ISMLC). Would like to thank Abhishek , Zeeshan
and others to give me a opportunity to write on this group. Really excited to
see an active group like this does exists. I will try to be short and crisp below.
It was a vacation time and I happen to join my family at my
in-laws place in Jaipur last month. During one of the conversation my
Brother-in-law asked my seven year old son, what he would like to become when
he grows up. The answer was “ Papa would like me to become a doctor or a
engineer, I know no body becomes that just like that, I need to study hard for
that but one thing is sure I want be become Happy when I grow”. We all were stunned and went into a shell of
thoughts on a very important life lesson we just heard form a 7 year old kid.
We all have ambitions and fair share of success and
failures. I do not intend to be preachy here but want to say some learning from my life so
far.
Thanks to the new world we
are in, there are plenty of opportunities for everyone. For sure our
parents have seen a tougher life in terms of opportunities open for them.
This new world has whole
lot of comforts but than we do have our own set of problems too. My
generation is just somewhere in middle of what the parents of ISMLC and
the members are. Hence I know when your parents say that you have all the
comforts in life which they did not have you can very well argue that you
have a different set of problems to tackle with.
Uniqueness of Idea is too
difficult to come hence are at big premium. If you thought you have a very unique new
idea, just check it out some one has worked volumes on it already. If
other guys were not successful it does not mean that you will also fail in
it.
With hard work you are
likely to get luckier but then you need to stop comparing your luck with
others. Need to accept disproportionate distribution of luck, world is
like that only.
It’s important to love the
work you do for earning your bread but do cultivate lots of hobby so that
in your life you never retire.
These were purely my observations and learning in life, I am
not too old to conclude this list hence it is growing. I am not too young to
not have my won five points of learning.
Looking
forward from the younger group to get some feedback and learn some from your learning’s.
It was a warm Sunday morning when I saw four gloomy people carrying a charpoy to the hut settlement near our house. Sun was still in its yellow hue. Birds chirping made it a perfect summer morning except for the wailing of an old lady now clearly crossing her eightieth year of existence. Bearers of the charpoy were of all sizes, from healthy and stout to lean and thin were carrying the still body of Dinwa covered in a tattered piece of rag, in such a bad shape that dare I call it a cloth.
What should have been the perfect summer morning of 1980’s clearly turned out to be a really bad start. I was too young but this one scene is yet engraved in my memory as if it was just yesterday. The wailing from the old lady was too shrill to be silenced even today. She was Dinwa’s grandmother and only surviving close blood relative alive. Probably Dinwa was the one for whom she survived so long even after seeing so many deaths and sorrow.
For lively hood she used to sell vegetables which she bought and mostly borrowed from the relatives and neighbours, all staying in the same hutment. Entire area belonged to a community called “Khatik” , who were primarily involved in business of selling vegetables.
We were not too fond of the old lady as kids. While we played gully cricket and did many a times hit the ball near the huts, first house belonged to Dinwa and his grandmother. She used to hurl abuse and never used to return the ball back to us. I surely do not remember how many we lost to her. On some rare occasion Dinwa did join us for the game and those were the days we were sure that we will not lose our ball to anyone.
I distinctly remember one of my encounters with the old lady. One of a distant relative or may be close one, I did not care about that, had send her a letter, post card to be precise. I happened to be passing by and she caught hold of me to read the contents. All the possible ladies from the neighbourhood surrounded me as we all settled on the neatly laid mud and cow dung spread floor. What happened there after is an embarrassment I did live for long. The letter was written in Hindi with the worst possible handwriting in the world. I am sure though the script was Hindi the dialect must have been Bhojpuri. The net result was I could not read a word out of it. They were amazed at my capabilities or non-capabilities to be precise. I could see giggles from them while covering the mouth with the end of their sari’spallu. Some also commented on what I do in my school, worst was when one said “Pass toh hota hai na!”.
In days to come I had to walk with my eyes dug deep in the earth as if trying to find an escape route, whenever I used to cross the hut area. It was difficult to avoid that route as it was my normal thoroughfare. The alternative route was three times longer but I do remember I used to take that whenever possible.
It would have been in my first decade of existence and Dinwa must have been a couple of years older to me. Within minutes all possible acquaintance in the neighbourhood around and grouped some wailing and others comforting. I did have a balcony view of entire proceedings from the third floor and comforts of my house. They had put a round belied pot near the charpoy with a scented white fume emitting overdose. Some of that smell did meet my nostrils and I have that lingering smell still coming to me whenever Dinwa’s name flashes in my memory.
Dinwa was a meek and fragile, boy of few words. I do remember asking Dinwa one day “What would you like to become when you grow up”. Probably the most common question we undergo as a part of all our childhood rituals. He told me something which was one big lesson for me those days “First I am not sure if I will live long enough to grow”. I was too small to think about death, I do not think Dinwa was too old for these words of wisdom either.
It was for the first time in my life I was confronting death that close and that to a death of a person who was so close to my age. That time of my life immortality was what I thought is the reality. Dinwa was suffering from mysterious illness of which nobody had a clue.I do not think they had resources to get it diagnosed forget about getting it treated.
After few hours it was time for Dinwa to embark on his final journey, now draped in a shinny white sheet of cloth. Finally he did get the best and brand new piece of cloth before his mortal remains were taken care of. Later I heard that he was buried, as a young unmarried youth are not cremated. The grandmother did not survive for long after that and in about a year’s time she too departed to join Dinwa and take care of him again.
I did visit my old house few years ago. Now there is a big mansion standing right where Dinwa’s hut was.The smell of the earth has been erased forever. To me this mansion is just a monument in tribute to Dinwa.
All along my story I have spelled his name as Dinwa, but quite honestly his name was to be spelled as Deenwa – The poor one or the misfortunate one. It comes out of word Deen and the last part ‘wa’ is added to any name in that part of the world, for that matter I am “Sandeepwa”. I wonder what made his parents think about this name; his fate did live to his name for sure.
I do not know if any of my siblings or friends will remember him. I wonder how many of his relatives and neighbours would do the same. Form me he was a special life teacher.I feel bit relieved that after so many years that have passed by I could pen down at least a small percentage of my feelings.
However small and insignificant we may be but we do impact life of people around us.
I had written this story in my diary quite some time ago, I was inspired to share this and put on my blog after editing it a bit when I happen to revisit this few days ago.I just realized I do have some more collections of similar story though not so gloomy, will wait for another inspiration to share some of them.
