Jasmine Morning

“Shhh, speak softly. We shouldn’t wake him. He needs his rest. He was studying till the wee hours of the morning.” Kanta reminded her husband looking fondly over to his son who was fast asleep in a corner of their small but well kept shanty. Her hands worked unsupervised, deftly sewing the jasmine flowers together on a white thread. Baldev looked at the sleeping form as it turned and drew the tattered blanket closer in a vain attempt at warmth. He also looked at the threadbare mat under his son and the partially visible title of the book that he rested his head on.

“C..H..E..M” Baldev knew the letters owing to the hoarding that faced his small corner shop but the meaning eluded him. Baldev was a roadside cobbler having inherited the skill from his father. His wife, Kanta, made jasmine gajra[1] and sold them at traffic signals. On a good day he made fifty rupees and she managed up to thirty.

“It’s your fault that he wastes his time on these wretched books,” said Baldev reluctantly dropping a decibel, “He should be helping me out. He is eighteen, Kanta. At his age I was feeding a family of six.”

“The coaching centre has agreed to teach him for free. They believe he is their brightest student. Strangers see potential in him and his own father…?” she accused.

“You have imagined a world around you that bows to your needs. Intelligence has never been enough.” he countered. “Ramlal says that thousands of students write the exam for admissions and only a few hundred make it. One needs a generous helping of luck to get in.” He put on his well worn shirt and looked at his tired reflection in the mirror.

“I know my son, not Ramlal. I believe our son will be one of the few hundreds. Manu, Raghu all his friends come to him for guidance with their preparation.  Our son is different. Can’t you see that?”

He knew the routine. It was difficult to win this argument with his wife. He decided on one last try. “Even if he gets in the college, we will still need money to support him through it. You are weaving a dream for him that we are not allowed to indulge in. He will be shattered when he wakes up.”

“God has blessed our son with a keen mind. He will also show the way forward.”

“Women! Why can’t they think rationally?” he thought to himself but said aloud “Do you think if God really cared about him he would have been our son?” It came out harsher than he had intended.

Kanta was stunned by the question. An inaudible whisper was all she could manage before tears welled in her eyes. She covered her mouth with the end of her saree to muffle her sobs.

“Cobbler’s sons do not become engineers,” was Baldev’s parting shot as he crossed the threshold.

He could recall the scene vividly even after two months. The jasmine flowers in the basket, the rhythm of Kanta’s hands, the book, the blanket and his hasty departure were chiselled in his memory. After that fateful day she had spoken to him only when absolutely necessary. The tension had soared as the exam date came closer. The sole purpose of Kanta’s existence was now to ensure that their son’s daily needs were met without the slightest delay or inconvenience to his studies. Baldev started spending more evenings away from home. He kept his shop open till late and accepted Ramlal’s invitation for a regular game of cards. The day of the exam she decided not to go for work forgetting in her devotion that they survived on a daily income. When his son bowed his head before him to take his blessings, his curt response had been to remind him that it was time he shouldered his responsibilities.

“He had come to me the same afternoon. I should have asked him about his exam but I was just relieved that it was all over. There was so much for him to learn if there was ever a chance for him to stand on his feet. I started with showing him all the implements and their use - nails, hammer, wax, awl, leather, stretcher - every tool was for a specific purpose and it had to be used in a prescribed way. If the nail tries to do the hammer’s job, no shoe would ever be wearable. His hands were too light on the hammer and though he tried to hide it I knew he did not particularly take to the smell of the leather soles. I had to make him understand that the competition from other cobblers down the street was fierce. Being polite to the angry customers was the right thing to do. I also took him to the wholesale market to buy laces, buckles and polish. I told him that haggling was inevitable and he should never budge from price but negotiate on the volume. And he listened quietly rarely asking questions. He started slowly with patching and polishing smaller shoes but picked the rest quickly. Some more time and he will become better than me at toe-capping and re-welting. He comes with me every morning to Kanta’s displeasure. She has always been religious, but her morning prayers have become extraordinarily longer off late and she now fasts for two days in a week. She must be prepared for this…” Baldev’s voice trailed off when Ramlal put a hand on his shoulder to stop the gushing words.

“Read it again” said Baldev after a moment’s hesitation, pointing at the newspaper that he clutched in his hands. The request irked Ramlal but looking at his friend’s deathly expression he decided to accede.

 “Gautam Baldev Mochi, son of Baldev Mochi ranks 144^th in the All India Engineering Entrance Exam” Ramlal read every syllable slowly, his eyes shifting between the paper and Baldev’s face.

Baldev wanted to read it too. He stared hard at the letters till they became blurry and he felt an odd wetness on his cheeks.