HAVE I TAKEN MY TABLETS?

 

“A person who won’t read

has no advantage over a person who can’t read.”

Mark Twain

 

This morning, Raju (our istriwala) and I entered into our building lift together. He was carrying at least five/six big ‘potlies’ of clothes – some on his shoulders, some in his hands. They belonged to  different residents who lived on different floors. What he was carrying must be from just one or two floors, while our building has two wings with sixteen floors each… Raju is so punctual, that you can set time on your watch as per his timings….

“Rajubai, how do you manage to remember whose clothes are there in each bundle, and how many are there in each bundle? Also, how do you remember who has paid you and who hasn’t?” I asked, almost amazed by his organized work, “I don’t see you keeping any note of these things.”

Raju smiled and replied, “Sir, this is my daily work… My mind has become used to it now.”

“Have you mixed up any time, or has any one complained any time?” I asked him.

“Never, Sir… Not happened so far.”

“How much you have studied?” I asked him, “You are so sharp in your calculations and memory.”

“Paanchvi tak, pada hoon , Sir,” he said, “Lekhin, computer pe nahin baita hoon.”

Well, it was my turn to smile, now… Just before leaving my door, I was scratching my head and asking the familiar question to my wife, “Have I taken my tablets?”

“How would I know?” had to be the familiar and blunt reply…

I told Raju about my perineal dilemma of remembering to take my two tablets in the morning… “I salute you, Rajubai… How do you remember whose clothes and how many clothes are there in each potli… and how much each one owes you?”

By then, the lift had landed on the ground floor… In the corner, below the staircase, I saw several more potlies… “Merciful God, no one has robbed any of those potlies… So far, so good,”  I wondered aloud.

Raju is not only sharp and organized in his work, he is also a God-trusting, simple soul…

On my way to work, there lives this elderly Maharashtrian woman… I call her Maa ji.  She must me eighty-plus, but lives all alone. She is very active, alert and she, always, exudes life… She loves to talk to every person who passes by… There are, always, some ladies outside her door and they keep themselves cheerful.

Two days before Diwali, I happened to see  Maa ji   at a nearby store. “I will be making besan ke laddoo and some other Diwali snacks,” she said, “I will be keeping some for you.”

“How sweet,” I said. I had been to that store around 11 in the morning to pick A-1 samosas (I love them). I asked the person at the sales counter to pack two for this charming woman…

Initially, Maa ji was reluctant to accept the samosas. But, on my insistence, she, finally, accepted. “Even I like these samosas… They go well with chai,” she said happily.

I had kept my classes closed for four/five days during Diwali (I was taking online classes from home). So, I had no chance to see Maa ji for many days. This morning, when she saw me passing, I heard her calling out, “Wait, wait… I was looking for you for so many days.” Then, she lovingly placed in my hands a paper bag containing some traditional,  Maharashtrians Diwali snacks… I had to accept them. Maa ji  had saved them for me for more than a week…

“Take good care of yourself, Maa ji,” I said with a grateful heart, “I will be praying for your good health and happiness.”

There was no need for me to ask her, “How much have you studied?” Nor she needed a computer to remind her what she had promised me a week before…

 

GERALD D’CUNHA

 

Pic’s: 1. www.istockphoto.com  2. www.huffingtonpost.com

 

Video:  HP India