Nilanjan Chatterjee
It was 9 am and the traffic was horrible. I was restless behind the steering wheel of my car, cursing myself for not starting early. Am I going to miss the important meeting? The serpentine queue of vehicles in front of me indicated so. I was trying to check on my mobile if there was a dial- in-number that I could use to join the meeting remotely. That was when I saw the man. He was standing there like every other day with his books and newspapers on the pavement and trying to sell them to the owners of the cars waiting at the signal. He was a small man, but it was his eyes that caught my attention. His eyes had sad expressions that spoke of his daily struggle. Accustomed to the closed car windows he did not call out to sell his books but merely used signs to grab attention of the travelers who could be his potential buyers. His clothes were simple, yet he was different from the other sellers on the pavement. He was slow and dignified in his approach. I saw him every day at the same place doing the same thing. Suddenly, the car behind me honked loudly, bringing me back to my senses, reminding me that I have to move forward. As I reached office and pulled my car into the parking lot, I looked at my watch. I was just on time for the meeting. It was a busy day and soon I was lost in the midst of hectic activities. It was evening when I realized that it was time to go home. I was feeling tired, though I had all the comforts at my office. Probably I was "stressed out"- a popular word in the IT world. As I drove my car, I saw the man once again at the very same spot. How many books did he sell? How was his day? Was he stressed out too? When will he go home? I could still see his eyes sad yet bright. Drifting between my thoughts, I realized I was at home with my family.
It was one of those busy days; as I was waiting at the signal, I saw those eyes again. This time he was near my car, waving towards me with one of those books. I don't need them'- was my first reaction.
But on second thoughts I rolled down my windows and asked him, "How much?" I didn't even see what those books were.
"Fifty rupees Saar. Good book. Short stories for children. Your kids will love to read."
I was surprised by his reply. I did not expect him to reply in English. I parked my car on the side and took the book from him. It was the usual kind of story book for kids.
"Give me two." I handed over a 100 rupee-currency note to him.
"Thank you Saar - may God be good with you", he gave the books to me. "Where do you stay? Nearby?" I was looking at his eyes now.
"No Saar- I stay far from here. I stay with my son. He goes to school and I come here to sell these books."
"Which school? Which class is your son in"? I felt good about his son going to school.
"Saar- he studies in class eight in the municipal school. He is good at studies - in mathematics and science."
I could see his eyes brighten up. I could relate his pride-it happens to me when somebody asks me about my children.
"Saar- he wakes up at 4 am to collect milk from the shop. He distributes milk packets in the locality. He goes to school after that. But he is very particular about attending school. He never misses a single day."
The conversation was cut short by a call from my boss. I had to rush.
"Bye. Say hello to your son."
"Thank you Saar."
I closed my windows and sped my car. I could see the man fading in my driving mirror. I didn't even ask his name.
It was raining heavily. As I stopped my car on the road side, I saw him standing under a broken umbrella, trying to save his books from the rain. I waved at him and asked him to come inside my car so that his books do not get wet.
"Thank you Saar", he opened the car door and sat in the back of my car. "The weather is bad. It is raining for last 2 days. I am not well."
"What happened"? I asked without looking at him.
"I have fever - on and off", he smiled. His face had a tired expression.
"How is your son doing", I continued as I turned back to face him. "Great Saar. He scored 100 in maths. I want him to go to IIT. He will take care of me."
"What is your name?" I felt bad that I had not asked him this question earlier.
"Kesarilal Saar." The name suggested that he was not from this part of the country.
"Where is your home town?" I guessed he was from the north.
That is when he told his story. He was a farmer in Chhattisgarh. He had studied till class 12. His plot of land sustained them quite well and he was happy with his wife and son. The farm animals supplied them fresh milk and eggs and there was plenty of fresh air for his lungs. Like any other common man, he heard about development and the story of "India Shining". One day, a group of officials came and asked him to vacate his land. The government wanted to construct an eight lane highway on his land. It would connect two major cities and bring lot of development. Kesarilal cried and cried but could not save his land. His land was taken away and he was paid compensation which never matched his needs. He migrated to the city in search of a job with his wife and son. They stayed in slums and missed the fresh air and food. He did some odd jobs but was never able to meet his needs. His son went to the local school. Last year, he lost his wife. He had no money for her treatment. He lost interest in his job and started selling books, which gave him some money to manage the expenses. His only hope is his son, Suraj. He thinks Suraj will be a champion.
"Saar- the rain has stopped. Thank you for your help." As he opened the door to get to his favorite spot, I took out a thousand rupees note and gave it to him. "See a doctor and buy some good clothes for your son", he took it, smiled back and gave me two books.
"Saar, give it to your kids. Thanks for your help. I will tell my son about you."
I had to go abroad for my work and was away for a month. I could not forget those sad, tired eyes, the thin frame and his voice. I remembered how his face would brighten up whenever he spoke of his son. I felt happy that his son was doing well in those conditions. It was a Monday. I was back in my city in the middle of unending traffic jams, struggling to get to my office. As I stopped near the usual spot, my eyes searched for Kesarilal. But I couldn't spot him. 'May be he has taken a day off, I thought, 'May be, he has gone out with his son to enjoy a holiday'. As the week went past, I couldn't find him. Every time I passed by, my eyes searched for Kesari. But he was not there.
It was a Saturday and I was going to a friend's place. As I drove through the same place, my eyes spotted a boy holding books and selling them. He had the same bright eyes. He was young and moving fast between the cars trying to persuade the car owners. I stopped my car and called the boy.
"What is your name son?"
"Surajlal", he replied.
"Is Kesarilal your father?" I couldn't hide my excitement.
"Yes Sir, he was my father. He died two weeks back. He had pneumonia", he replied without any emotion.
I was speechless, thinking how to reciprocate.
"Are you the person who gave him money to buy clothes for me? See, I am wearing them. Thank you, Sir."
"Are you still going to school? Your father was very proud of you. He wanted you to go to IIT." I spoke with a heavy heart.
"Yes Sir, I do. I will not leave school. I will crack IIT. I go to school on weekdays and on weekends and holidays I sell books to earn money. I still distribute milk which gives me some extra money. I am getting free tuition from one of my customers and I am managing with that. Yes, I will make my father's dream a reality. Good bye, Sir."
With these words he walked fast to catch the next car. He had a task at hand. He had miles to go and a dream to fulfil. I could see the confidence in his eyes. He did not succumb to cruel fate. He was here to fight till the end to win and pursue his dreams.
He is the Future India'. He is the true 'India Shining'.
I started my car. Like his father, I could see him fading in my car mirror.