Just a Small Payment

It started about three years ago!

I was in my office, engrossed in work. I do not have a particularly excellent eyesight. I can’t read well without specs. To top it, my eyesight is worse with specs! So, I tend to stoop at my desk, not allowing more than a ten inch separation between my aging eyes and whatever object I may be looking at. My style of observation has the added advantage of increased concentration. You may safely say that I don’t only look at the object, I even listen to it, though it may be only a piece of paper!

I was engrossed in looking at some paper, when someone knocked. I keep the door of my cabin open, and expect the visitors to just come up to my table, take a seat, and start the conversation from the word go. This saves time on pleasantries that are not meant but yet uttered. My colleagues are aware of my eccentricities and tolerate them.

I looked up. It was not a colleague. The visitor was a young man. A young man, who, perhaps, was short of cash. His necktie was dirty and beyond washing, his shirt collar was black with grime, his leather belt was cheap, and his trousers needed ironing.

Obviously, he was a salesman.

Courtesy demanded that I offer him a seat, and I did. The salesman, a young man of about twenty five, began in his typical salesman rhetoric. He demanded to know how many times I went out to a restaurant, how many times I travelled by air, etc., etc. He demanded information of very personal nature, and I was reluctant to share it with an outsider generations younger to me. But the young man was persistent, and I ended up supplying all the information to him.

The young man produced some papers, asking me details and scribbling. Finally, he thrust a bunch of forms under my nose. “Sign here”, he commanded. “But I don’t need a credit card”, I retorted.

“Sir, you are getting it freeeeee”, he smiled, as if he were informing that I had become the President of my country.

“Free or paid, I do not need another card”, I protested.

He looked at me with pity. “What is the harm if you have a card?”, he asked.

“Well, I already have some. And, while you claim that it is free, you will ask for money when it becomes due for renewal next year.”

“I will not ask for money, Sir”. The man was confident.

I thought it over. Yes, what would be the harm if I possess another card? If I accept the card, the poor fellow may get some much needed commission, I thought, and signed on the dotted lines.

The young man was correct. He never asked me for money. The card provider did. Every year, without fail. I kept on paying, before finally deciding to put a stop this year. I refused to accept the card. The company sent a letter informing that it had received the card back. And sent me another notice to pay. Followed by another notice. And another. And another.

Isn’t it a bit too familiar?

My Last Salute

Till yesterday I did not know who Unnikrishnan was. Or, Major Unnikrishnan, for that matter. I heard his name for the first time yesterday.

He was fighting terrorists in a Mumbai hotel. He saw a colleague getting injured and rushed to his help. The bullets found him. Major died doing his duty.

Today morning as I crossed the crematorium, I found the army band taking position. A few kilometres later, a flower bedecked army vehicle passed me.

My eyes swelled with tears. I am not an army man, but gave the Major a salute. As best as I could. I had lost someone who I wish was my own.

I will follow your example, Major. I will help my countrymen, and do my duty. Without worrying about what I would get in return.

India will produce lakhs of Major Unnikrishnans and Field Marshal Sam Manekshaws. We will win.

My last salute to you, Major. You will live for ever.

Strange but True

It was summer.

Summer in India can be harsh, but it is specially so in the steel city of Jamshedpur. Those who can, take leave and go to cooler places during the harsh season.

I had also taken leave, but for an entirely different reason. I was sick. Bed ridden, in fact.

Till about six months ago, when I had got married, I had a lithe physique. I enjoyed my work that involved a lot of travelling on dusty roads. It was usual for me to cover four hundred kilometres in an Ambassador car four days every week and then spend eleven hours in the office on the remaining days to complete the paperwork. I was a lonely bachelor. The lifestyle suited me well.

My parents lived in Delhi. My father remained occupied with his office throughout the day. My mother, alone in the house, would keep track of my movements through phone calls to my colleagues. And the day she would find me in the office, we would talk happily for very long hours.

And then, I had fallen sick. It appeared to be a simple illness in the beginning. Bouts of cough, general weakness, etc. Every day I felt I would be fit to go to the office the next day, but even taking a small step would appear to be a big challenge the next morning. I started losing weight rapidly. Within two months, I was reduced to 49 kilograms from 67.

My mother regularly called up the office. My colleagues initially told her that I was down with flu. Later, to not to unduly worry her, they would say that I was on tour. This continued for some time. Finally, one fine morning my parents landed at my house.

They were stunned! It seemed to them that I was making a determined progress towards death. My entire body was continuously trembling. Doctors, having failed to diagnose the disease, were prescribing medication of various types on a hit-and-trial basis. Obviously, my condition was beyond the control of doctors.

She observed me for two days. On the third day, she made me stand in the courtyard. She was heartbroken. Looking at the summer sky she spoke loudly, not to anyone in particular, “I do not know what has caused my son’s illness; but I ask for him to be forgiven, and offer myself instead.” I was too weak to stand on my feet, but the pathos in her voice sank deep within me.

My parents escorted me to Delhi. They consulted several doctors, and I started regaining health. Within a few months I was hale and hearty, engrossed in work, as if nothing wrong had ever happened to me. I did speak to mother whenever time permitted, but as months passed, increased work pressure and the birth of my son shortened the conversations.

Once on a tour to a Tata office, I was handed over a wireless message stating that my mother was seriously ill. Devastated, I flew to Delhi. She had vomited blood and was hospitalised. I ensured that she was shifted to a better hospital and received good treatment. However, her condition continued to worsen. She started bleeding from everywhere. Within ten days, she passed away, leaving me at her bedside.

Doctors declared that she died of cirrhosis of liver, and asked whether she was an alcoholic.

My mother had never touched alcohol in her life!

Now That's Life

Mahatma Gandhi said, nature provides enough for our needs, but not for our greed.

Greed and one-up-man-ship cast blinding magic, and man starts hurting himself. One need not look at the share market for proof. We act very selfishly, very myopically, even on occasions of little significance.

Drivers overtake and form lanes where none should exist, blocking incoming traffic and creating jams on congested roads. Vehicles hoot at traffic junctions, not allowing the vehicle ahead to move gracefully when the signal turns green. I have even seen drivers cursing each-other over a split-second delay in zooming ahead.

Diners at buffets fill up their plates as if they would never get a chance for a refill, and refuse to move away from the tables.

Now, if life’s like that, why is it like that?