Tales of India ...1

Over the last twenty-five years in consulting, nearly all of it in India, I have traveled the length and breadth of the country. Most trips are short and for a specific client purpose—a presentation, an important meeting, or a session with the team et.al. Besides the interesting client interactions, some trips are memorable not because of someone I met in an office or client premises, but because of a person who stays with you for many days, filling those memories with warmth and joy each time you reminisce. Such an encounter happened a month ago.

It was a usual quotidian morning flight, accompanied by an average fiction book and random thoughts about the upcoming meeting once I landed. The standard motions of a forgettable plastic meal and a cup of black coffee occupied my time, only remembered because my muscle memory prompted me to pop in a regular morning pill after the tray was cleared, taking a sip of plastic water. Rushing through the busy crowds of the airport, I found my name on a placard held by a surprisingly cheerful driver in spotless white attire. “Someone seems happy today,” I thought, and an unconscious smile spread across my lips.

Settling into the car, I wore ear pods and resumed listening to the podcast from the previous evening's walk with my pup at home. The driver asked a few perfunctory questions about the destination, to which I murmured responses, before returning to my podcast. Then he said, "Ek bahut badhiya chai piyenge, Aap?" (Will you drink a cup of really good tea?) I nodded, albeit apprehensively, recalling the tepid tea from my last visit near the airport. We soon parked near a stall where an old man was brewing tea, his vessel resembling those aged Chinese kettles, gently rinsed to retain flavors across years.

“Where are you from?” I asked him casually, out of gratitude after a sip of the remarkably flavorful tea. He smiled and replied in Hindi, “I don’t know, Sirji, my earliest memory is a slow, rhythmic beat, which I think was my mother’s heartbeat. It didn’t have a language!” For the first time that day, I looked closely at him—a man perhaps in his late fifties, with mostly grey hair, a short stature, a weather-beaten brown face, but an astonishingly embellishing smile, something divine.

Curiosity gripped me, and I asked for more details. Thus began his tale of a remarkable adventure. His earliest memory was sleeping with a boy perhaps a little older than him, a taller boy older than them both, and a girl who always cared for him. He believes they survived floods and ended up in the city. For a long time, he remembered the girl feeding him with her hands, carrying him around, and talking to him as if he understood everything. One day, she disappeared. Then, the tall boy ('Lambu Bhaiya') took over, taking him to his workplace, likely a carpentry shop. The other boy, always coughing ('Khassu'), lay around as Lambu Bhaiya provided water and food.

The shop owner took the younger boys to his house, and he grew up in a shed overlooking the large house. Occasionally, Lambu Bhaiya visited, while our protagonist learned to clean the car and his sick friend cut vegetables in the kitchen. One day, the shopkeeper fainted at home. In a panic, with no one else around, our boy attempted to drive the shopkeeper to a nearby clinic, despite only knowing how to start the car and some basics of clutching and gearing. Miraculously, they reached the clinic with minor scratches, and the old man survived. Grateful, the old man taught him to drive and later promoted him to the driver.

In time, the driver married, had two boys and a girl, and eventually settled down. His elder boy became a teacher, the younger a male nurse, and his daughter was admitted to medical college two years ago. His wife passed away ten years prior, but he holds vivid, fond memories of her. Lambu Bhaiya remained a constant in his life, ever supportive. The tea stall's old man turned out to be Khassu.

His children, Harsh, Pramod, and Khushi (all names meaning happiness in Hindi), now live separately, but he visits them often, gathering the family whenever possible. He credits his blessed life to the kindness of countless people, seeing his identity as a human adopted by many and reciprocating that kindness in every way, always with a genuine, wide smile. His sage wisdom reminded me they can take away everything but not our attitude and zest to be good people.

A tear welled up in my eye, and I choked, thanking him for sharing such a heart warming story. Suddenly, our lives seemed so simple and uncomplicated compared to the ordeals others around us endure.

(This is the first episode of the series of encounters which remained with me ...)