Independence Defined

I slammed the door behind my back as hard as I could, muttering profanities under my breath. The meeting was over for me. It had been a hectic Sunday. I had been to my workplace for inking out an important business deal, which somehow, couldn't get through despite my best efforts. Frustrated and famished, I took out my lunchbox, gulped something as fast as I could and looked up my watch, it was half-past 3 already. I packed my bag and darted out of the office. The cool confines of the office were way too suffocating for my comfort in contrast to the hot sun outside - which surprisingly, provided the much-needed succour. I didn't feel like getting back home anytime sooner. So I plonked myself on a bench overlooking a small garden. I was procrastinating as to how things didn't go the way I wanted to and how my entire holiday stood wasted.

The garden was hardly buzzing with any activity as the evening was still tender and had a few hours till it came upon its own. A few street urchins here and there, a couple of gossiping women and one or two chain smokers formed its clientele. I ran my eyes around but my gaze stood transfixed at the far entrance of the garden where a young boy, maybe around 8 to 9 years old was selling flags. Suddenly it dawned upon me that Independence day was round the corner and I stood up. My patriotic fervour got the better of me and I walked towards the gate to check the paraphernalia displayed by the boy. He had the usual Indian flags, the ones that were to be pinned onto your pockets, the metal variety as well. " What's your name?" I inquired. "Nandu" ...pat came the reply. " This one is for 5, that is for 8 and this is for 2" blurted out the lad without me even as much as asking !!! I decided to purchase one each of the three varieties. He had another bundle stashed away behind him and he was in the process of opening it for display.

Sahab, this is for 25, that is for 15" he yelled while showing me the 'rakhis' that he was displaying. " "Oh, when is Raksha Bandhan", I inquired sheepishly. "Sahab, both are on 15th," he said as if scolding me for my ignorance. " Oh, then give me a rakhi as well", I said. I paid him the money and went back to where I was sitting. As the sun started setting and the evening was making its presence felt in all its grandeur, I somehow couldn't take the eyes off that kid. I wondered how frustrated I was to have missed a deal and here I have this kid who gleefully solicited customers, standing in the hot sun for hours, sometimes haggling, sometimes relenting, but eventually selling off everything he had bought. Perhaps, he was, in fact, a better salesman than I could ever dream to be.

Once he was done, I noticed him, sitting down and counting his earnings. He placed a major chunk in a polythene bag and stuffed some into his pockets. I followed him. He stopped at a rundown hotel across the street, got some food wrapped and ran through a dingy lane. I couldn't walk through the lane without covering my nose, as a major part of this lane was covered with moist garbage and slime which emanated a foul smell. He entered an equally dingy room and I followed him. He took out the polythene bag and handed it over to a middle-aged lady who was cooking something on a makeshift stove. She counted it carefully and placed it inside an aluminium container. The room was filled with all sorts of stuff that are usually sold on the roadside - flags, rakhis, earrings, bangles, garbage bags, earthen Diyas and what not. There was a cow too, tied in a small shed behind the room. Just as I was wondering, I saw two small girls as well who were busy making garlands, perhaps for the upcoming festive season. Another boy just came with an empty container and handed over the day's cash to the woman. There were roughly about 10 children doing something or the other. It was probably a mini cottage industry that was operating. The other rooms nearby too had occupants engaged in similar professions.

I gently knocked at the door. " Who is it"? the women screamed. Not knowing how to introduce myself, I pushed open the door. "Who is it"? the woman called again. The boy recognised me and narrated it to the woman. "Are you the police or from the municipality", she wished to know. "No I am not", I said. "Just curious to know about your work". "Take it," she said while handing over a glass of tea. "What do you want to know", she asked. "No..nothing, just about the work," I said hesitantly. The glass of tea was still sitting on the ground and staring at me. I didn't have the courage to gulp it down, perhaps afraid of getting ill. Our conversation revealed a whole lot about her tumultuous life. She was Kaveri, coming from a distant village in Tamil Nadu. Orphaned when she was a child, she initially did household work for a living. As fate would have it, she got married before she was an adolescent and came to Mumbai. Her husband sold her off for a paltry sum and life became hell thereafter. Somehow, she eloped with the help of a customer who was kind enough to give her some money to start living. She sold idlis on the streets during the day, travelled across the length and breadth of the city in local trains selling trinkets. During the festive season she made it a point to cater to the seasonal demands - Kandils and Diyas during Diwali, colours during Holi, Rakhis for Raksha Bandhan and so on. She was able a shift to her current abode through sheer grit and determination. She made it a point to help children who were orphans or beggars or simply abandoned by their parents and made them self sufficient. "How do you feed so many children, do all of them earn that much " I queried. " See these children bring enough money for survival. But then, I don't touch their money and save it for their future. I have a tie-up with a local tea stall and he gives me the used tea bags from which I make tea. I have this ration card borrowed from the lady for whom I worked, which gets me kerosene to cook. I bring used clothes from neighbouring buildings and stitch them so that these children can wear them"."Great", I exclaimed. " We get water from the common tap and electricity through an illegal connection, I don't pay anything for these. I bring leftover food from a nearby hotel and feed them to my children after re-heating. Once in a while, particularly on some festive occasion, I prepare fresh food and serve these kids. Sometimes, they too bring something to eat from their day's earning as well"." Then what do you do with their earnings "? I remarked. "See, I have enrolled three of these children in a night school and this money goes for their expenses. I wish to enrol all of them someday in future" she explained, her eyes welling up with tears. I gathered the courage to pick up that glass of tea and took a sip. " Well, it's not as bad as I thought. Is it made from the same used tea bags" I asked tongue-in-cheek to lighten the situation. She kept mum, her silence gave in. " And what's the story of that cow which is tied over there? Is it for the milk ?" " No. It's a dry cow, well past its prime. I take it in the morning to the temple with some fresh grass. People purchase the grass from me to feed it. This way, it doesn't go hungry and I make some money too."

By now, I was well and truly overwhelmed by this woman. I got up and walked out of the room and into the bustling street outside. The smell of muck no more engulfed me. My mind continued going back to the woman. The illiterate woman had taught me the lesson of my life. My woes paled in contrast to what she has been through in life. I was frustrated in the morning because I couldn't settle the deal or because I had wasted my Sunday. How silly I was !!! Here she was making a deal every day and successfully at that, without as much as any support, without as much as any guidance. I had consultants at my beck and call to help me out. I earned handsomely but did I help someone in distress? No. She could draw a business plan out of a famished cow and I was fuming and fretting in a plush office not knowing what to do. Perhaps I need to learn being patient, perhaps I need to learn how not to give up easily, perhaps I need to stop complaining altogether.

As I walked towards my home, I saw flags being sold, symbolising our Independence day. Well, had it not been for that deal which I failed to make, I wouldn't have been to the park, I wouldn't have met the boy selling flags, I wouldn't have met that gritty woman. But I did and I broke the shackles and freed myself..from my negative thoughts, from ......everything. I encountered my independence..but of a different kind

Happy Living!!!!