KT's Realization

      Mr. Trivedi sat there. He kept both legs folded; one flat on the floor, and on the other one, his chin was supported. He was sitting with his back on the corner of the couch. Putting both his hands over his head; he kept on looking at the wall blankly. 

   A few friends and acquaintances have already gathered. Some people were congregating one after another near the entrance of that same building.  

   The corpse of his father was placed on an old and tattered mattress. Jaimin, one of his friends, wondered, looking at the mattress, "How could a family that earns pretty well keep such an ugly thing at home? Their income was indeed pretty good, at least as per the standard of living out there in that city. It seems these people don’t part with any old, used things with the poor people around. And look at the clothes KT has on; they may be a little better than those of the handicapped beggar, who used to sit on the street corner near the telephone exchange. In the friend circle, Jaimin and others used to call Mr. Trivedi by a nick name. It was actually the initials of his name, Krishnakumar Trivedi, which was, in short, KT. Nevertheless, there was another ironical version among some friends that referred to the letter, ‘K’ for the Hindi word, which means a 'miser'. 

   Now, he has made a little change in his posture. The perplexed perpendicular left leg was kept in such a position as if it were totally neglected, while the position of the upright right leg appeared to be much valued because he hugged it very passionately with both hands. It appeared as if it was the one and only reliable thing in that situation. He was watching the nails of the toes with rapt attention. The thin toes appeared somewhat better than pickled mango pieces. 

    Jaimin never visited his house, despite being one of the close friends of Mr. Trivedi in the city. Jaimin hailed from a prosperous village. His father was a gazetted government officer, and they have enough arable land. The agricultural produce that they used to get every year would easily feed two more families. In spite of all that, he was quite down-to-earth. His father kept him in a prestigious boarding school, and owing to that upbringing, he had not even an iota of the arrogance that was common among the Jamindars.  

   He silently observed the people inside and outside as well. None came forward. Jaimin came close to him and asked, “KT, are you expecting the arrival of any of your relatives?”

KT moved his head sedately to mean, “No.”

  Then we should not delay, man. After all, the people gathered here, they have their regular duties and commitments. I thought you were waiting for someone. 

  KT sedately said, “No, I’m not waiting for anyone. My son and daughter cannot come in such a short span of time. (Both his son and daughter were studying out of the state, one was in Bangalore and another was in Chennai.)

  Then tell your Wife and your Mom to complete whatever rituals you people follow.

KT remained motionless. 

... ... 

     Thoughts flashed in his mind. All those scenes were too jumbled at that point of time. Indeed, the thoughts keep appearing like a sort of collage, a very complicated composition of many jumbled fragments. 

   He recollected. One evening, after coming from school, he came to know that his father had left them. What was initially propagated by his elder brother, that he got a job in the army, was a plain lie. It was just an ‘eyewash’ to maintain the modesty of the family. But as people generally do, the same sort of uncalled-for inquiries were carried out. Some relatives around their house discovered the reality. 

   Actually his father took a job as a truck driver and moved to Nepal for good. Watching the parents of the children of his age many questions germinated in his young mind. But he couldn't find any satisfactory answers. 

   One of his father's cousins confirmed that from the local truck owners’ association. He simply went away and abandoned his two sons and his wife. He left them in the hands of fate. Not bothering about the most pragmatic questions, "Who will fend for them? Who is there to look after them?" Alcoholism, gambling, addiction of marijuana; he was adorned with all such unique habits. He didn’t give a damn to the illiterate and hapless lady of around forty years and her two young sons. 

   Very little arable land they had. His elder brother toiled like an animal to produce the little, which could meet just one square meal per day for them. He was still in school. But he buckled right in and started earning by doing private tuition, which would meet the need for cash money to some extent for their family of three members. That amount wasn’t sufficient at all, but as it is rightly said in the age-old proverb, ‘A one-eyed uncle is better than no uncle’. 

      They inherited two rooms and a small kitchen from the half a century old house precinct of the joint family of his father’s brothers. The struggle continued till his graduation from the nearest college, which was around twenty kilometres away from his home. To reach the college and attend his tuitions he would use a bicycle. It was a second hand one that his elder brother managed to buy for him. Every week, twice or thrice, he would visit the cycle repair shop of one of his father’s cousins.

   He and his elder brother used to call him Chachaji. The bearded, jovial man with his signature ‘gamchha’, a kind of hand-loomed checkered towel, on the left shoulder, would tell a joke with a chuckle, "The wheels of this cycle are very much like you, two brothers. Sometimes the first one is a bit sad and sometimes the second one is a bit gloomy, but through your determination, you tackle it very well and your cycle is going on unflinchingly. His elder brother’s name was Balabhadra. At times he would not hesitate to cut another joke, "Nandababa never wished to miss his two sons while your Nandababa had disappeared magically and he himself became a missing person."

    Although his words seemed to insult both brothers, he was pure at heart. Slowly, both of them realised the same. He spoke harsh words on the face, while good words about them were spoken at the back. After all, lessons of life are learned from the little and nondescript anecdotes that recur pretty frequently. Such anecdotes are the most valuable teachers in our life. 

     Soon after his graduation, he found a new shelter, a much better and more decent one, on the premises of a local NGO some thirty kilometres away from his home. By that time, his elder brother was married. In his life, the emotional attachment of his elder brother, which was the only moral support, next to none other than his mother’s affection, gradually started diminishing. He could feel that. It wasn’t that conspicuous, may have been a sort of undercurrent, but he could make it out. There used to be no visible effect on his face, despite his bad mood.

    He pondered it pragmatically. The land and the house were just enough for a small family. He understood very well. His new job on the campus of the NGO was a new lease on life for him. The septuagenarian director of the campus provided him with whatever help he could extend. The one BHK quarter was sufficient for him and his mother. 

...  ...  

     One evening, from the main gate, the watchman called using the intercom telephone. He said, "One old man has come to meet you. He says that he is your father." It almost reached his throat, "My father has been missing for many years, you see, I don’t know any news". Somehow he restrained the same and said, "Please make his seating arrangement in the reception. Soon I’ll come and meet him." 

   Upon meeting him, KT came to know that his father had been in an accident and had a minor fracture in his left arm bone. His mother didn’t make any scenes of the hyperactive kind. She calmly asked, "Why do you come to us now? So far we have lived or died, did you ever bother to keep the news?" 

      The next day, his elder brother Balabadhra came to meet him, and from him, he learned that his father had taken some money as a loan from someone. And that person is madly looking for him. Balabhadra said, Krishna, as I told him about that man, in that evening itself he left home. And by sheer bad luck, only from me did he get your address. Anyhow, you know that some truck owners are acquainted with me. They know very well about my financial condition, which they explained to that man. I don’t know the amount. But, do not unnecessarily take on the financial burden. Before giving any money, don’t forget to talk to me first. I came here just to convey this."

     He recalled all the incidents that followed thereafter. He had to part with a hefty amount. And eventually, after a week or so, his father disappeared again. As he suddenly appeared one day unwelcome, he went away one day without informing anyone. After two days, KT discovered one of his shirts is missing. It was worn only twice, he wore the same new shirt before he left. After knowing this, his mother jovially commented, "Son, let us pray to God, let your shirt impart some good values on him." 

    He was startled as if a dream had suddenly been shattered. Jaimin alerted him, “KT, let’s go. The last journey bus from the municipality has arrived.”

    His mother called him inside. KT went inside. She told him that he should keep some money with him and give some new clothes to the person who would be doing the cremation work.

... 

    After a week or so, Jaimin went to the city center riding his favorite motorbike and suddenly noticed that a beggar was wearing the same shirt that KT used to wear. 

Out of sheer Inquitivenes Jaimin asked him, "Who gave you this shirt? " 

He sedately replied, "The man who worked in the crematorium gave me this." 

 Jaimin said to himself with a smirk, "Unbelievable, that obstinate miser has started parting his old things with the poor and the needy. It's strange that that dirty moron has changed. I wonder: is he truly coming to realisation?"

                             *****