“The timelessness of his soul, dictated by memories, is traced by the curses he bears and boons he gave”

“How do you remember a man?” is a question that has bothered me since long. Is it the wealth that he flirted with? Is it his reputation that will glitter forever? The questions combined into boundless inquisition, as the answer fiddled before me irritably. Watching the latest re-telecast of the Indian cricket match and cheering each highlight of the Indian win as a kid, is a man whom I can never forget.

1948 could supposedly be called as the year of uncertainties in Indian history. The country was free at-last majority didn’t know what to make of it. Certainly not bow down to the extreme taxing anymore. Coming into the world in this year, the nickname ‘Azad’ was obvious. When he was born, he was already younger to 7 elder siblings, of 4 brothers and 3 sisters. Being the youngest, he always was the most loved as well as the most scrutinized. Being the last one, he explains, is a responsible boon. True to the name, he grew up with limited luxuries, Hindu culture disciplines, and a freedom unprecedented to his siblings. His childhood could be defined as a scripture in the Indian history pages. Lush green villages, a large family in a small wooden-straw house, and respect for each other in the society. His eyes twinkle, revisiting the days when the society respected the profession of teaching so much that the village had contributed to the house in which he lived; in gratitude, his father used to teach for a meager salary in villages.

Like us, who spend most of our lives not being thankful enough for the struggle of our parents to fulfill most of our childish wishes, he says he started out as the same. Roaming around with his friends on his cycle, watching the street plays and being a dedicated admirer of theater. Working part time jobs as he liked and studying on the side. He reveals, once he has a huge disagreement over his next job, which his father had got him through a recommendation. And that led to, him not seeing eye to eye with his father for the next 2 years. His friends, as he shows me in the pictures, were a wild bunch too. Learning life through experiences, he called it. The world seems less intimidating, when the people who share a laugh and a tear with you, stand by you. Responsibility was the farthest thing on his mind, when he joined the polytechnic studies. The fun continued, studies persisted and before he could celebrate that graduation with his buddies, he had a job offer on his table. Nothing fancy, he stresses on, but a stable one. A government job in those days was the best you could do for a mediocre student. The challenge however, to move to a far off city, where he knew no one, couldn’t speak the local language, and would take 2 days to get back home.

With time, everyone can feel a slight weight on their shoulders; Not much to feel it as a burden but enough to make us notice it. Travelling more than 1000 kms, he took his first steps into the global world, without any support. Little did he know, every place he would step on, would adopt him as it’s own. He showed up at his new office, well-dressed in his only formal clothing. The supervisor position suddenly felt a lot tougher than it was, as he looked at the state of the workshop. He fought with his inner demons, and outside prejudices to become the leader he was. He became the chief in no time and with that the luxuries turned to needs. A new house was needed, and a car to occupy the garage. The fan was not enough anymore and the brand new TV was the technological advancement he required. 8 years passed as he earned two promotions, respect of his workers and a new goal in life. Completing his B.Ed on the side, revealed a new challenge for him: to pursue teaching for the fun of it. Leaving the new bride in dilemma, he inquired if he was right in doing so. And his wife as always said the same,” if you believe in it”.

A fly sits on the edge of his untouched lemon juice glass, as he stares at it for a moment. As I notice a certain moisture gather at the corner of his droopy eyes, he turns to me and advises,”respect people, for you never know who believes in you when you are nothing”. He laments being the man, who would never respect being a husband to his woman. Taking people for granted is a luxury until it turns to be a bane. We all do that, and we all suffer. Some of us acknowledge and live with it, others are happy to be fools for life. It was too late for him, to bring flowers for his wife, to care for her little chocolate temptations, to ask her out on a Friday night date. He went home one day to learn that his wife has autoimmune disease and needs to undergo treatment. The way he responded was to search the best doctor. He was not a bad person, just a bad husband. Never the intention to hurt anyone, but neither was it to please the people he loved. This world functions in living that extra mile for the family and friends. After all they are supposed to give you that extended hand themselves.

He was a good teacher though, as it was the next challenge, to excel. He recalls being strict, being called “Hitler”, but students at the end of their high school graduation naming him as their favorite. When his first class 10 graduated, the student who bore most of his brunt was the one to hug him and thank him the most. Maybe something triggered in him that he went to his wife in the hospital and lied with her on the bed and sobbed like a baby. His wife perhaps knew this moment was in the reckoning. It was more relief than surprise for her. The words he expected were,”It’s alright”, all he got was “I love you”. The guilt was too much and maybe it is justified that his wife passed away in a week from then, unconcerned about him. The freedom or loneliness, changed his ways. From being a man of discipline and prime focus, he became the most gracious guy in the neighborhood. The man who would compete to be the best at work, was now rated as the best in life. The world sometimes is a cruel place. Till he was stringent, his family of brothers and sisters were wary of him, but as he mellowed down and changed his ways all of them realized that he was their family too.

He picks up his juice and takes a small sip. He explains me on how he was asked to be the guarantee for his relatives business and he was duped of all his savings. On account of his youngest brother’s request, he lend him his last savings, clearly knowing that he won’t ever return. When I questioned him on this, he replies,”What will I ever do with any money. I used to get a monthly salary and that was enough for me to survive”. After retiring from the school, he sold his house in the city to clear all the debts and returned to his village. This place, his dream house he calls, is leaking at the corner of yesterday’s rainwater. He looks at the clock and prepares to get up from his chair. I help him up and he slowly walks towards the door and stops, earnestly looking for a helping hand. We both walk towards the backyard and feed his daughters and sons.

This place feels pure. Everything feels right about this. The weather, the sounds, the breeze and the people. He nods in silent acknowledgement. He is visited by the neighbor’s kids everyday. He is invited as the chief guest for most festivals. People of this village celebrate together and mourn together. They fight together and feed together. The farms are still green and people here are intent on keeping it that way. Kids still aspire to be like their parents. He smiles when I talk like this. But I am here today, to convince him to return with me to the city. His cancer, unchecked till a week ago, is not going to break on its own. And unfortunately neither can any doctor or medicine. But we could possibly give him an another month.

He falls into his chair again, and says he needs to rest. For one last time, I request him to return with me to the city. He places my hands in his, and seemingly confident, asks me to visit him next time as well. He closes his eyes now and whispers,”life, I’ve seen it all, and I’ll live to see all that I should see. Other than that, let me be a memory of good that I was, and a lesson of bad I did”.

Mindful of my steps, I stealthily walk out of his house, closing the gate behind me. To take this man out of his home, somehow feels wrong to me. I’d thought the trick to succeed in life was to make enough money to cover the pitfalls of sadness. But he is happy to be himself. He learnt to love the person next to him. Being cheated, he learnt to hope. Every happiness he got, he kept spreading it and it grew so much that he believes he’s never been richer.

Liberated by the good he stood for and the bad he owned up to, the greatest man I’ve ever met………