Kindness For the Unsung People Around Us
Why do we miss people and things only when they disappear?
“How am I supposed to walk?”, wailed my teenager, looking from me to the broken sandal. I groan inside as once more my purse would weigh less for a new sandal.
“Why new, can’t you repair it?”, you may ask. Well, we could, till a few months ago. There was this bunk under the old Banyan tree, which since my childhood had been on the same spot with the same man. It seemed to me as if it read an imaginary board — “Anything wrong with your footwear? Just come here!!”.
I used to see him squatted in the corner of his tin cubicle surrounded by a variety of footwear. Men, women, students, rich or poor, all had their footwear under his trust. Not because he repaired them so well, but mostly because he never charged more than was necessary. Times have changed; the cost of living has soared along with the mercury levels, but his rates always remained reasonable.
But, Alas! Now the spot is completely bare. The bunk and the old, huge Banyan tree, both are now gone.
Reason — the urban development drive with the road widening project that has cost the lives of thousands of trees that shaded this town since times unknown.
No shade, now, no man to repair our sandals. You either throw them away when broken or go to another supposed cobbler who will charge triple the rate and in turn give no assurance that the sandal will last for even a couple of days.
I heard similar complaints from many acquaintances. So, with my kid standing embarrassed here on the road, I wondered how the town must be missing this tiny, anonymous landmark that had once assured us a wobble-free walk.
I remember another day…
I live in a coastal town, so the sea is part of our lives. Our usual outdoor get-togethers or daily morning walks or yoga sessions all may begin anywhere in the town but always end up at the beautiful beach which skirts the entire length of our town.
Well, one day we, as usual, went for an outing to the beach and, surprise!!! No, not that the beach had suddenly changed to a waterfall or that the sea had receded or was at a storm.
Yet, something was amiss that I cannot pinpoint at first. An hour later, my kid looks up at me with a look that indicated that it was snacks-time.
So, I started looking out for the pop-corn or ice-candy vendors. But strangely there was no one in sight. Then I turned towards the direction where we usually had our snacks and drinks. That’s when I found the abnormality of the day’s beach view. The stalls were all gone. The place had such a deserted look that my stomach started growling even more.
The stalls with savouries like panipuri, shev-puri, pav-bhaji, Gobi Manchurian, Hakka noodles, ice creams, and cold drinks all were gone.
A seashore outing without a culminating plate of shev-puri, for my kid, was out of the question.
Of course, it also included the oncoming tantrum of rolling in the sand till you really put something in the wailing mouth. Well, I can guess what you were about to say, ‘parenting had never been easy’. I knew it!!
Is it too late to realise?
I realise, that all these years we had been coming here, having our share of snacks and drinks, juices, ice-creams, etc, but today when they were not in their place, the beach did not look complete.
It was only when they were removed that I gleaned how we take for granted many things available to us. What I had been missing that day, were the usual sounds of stall-keepers luring their customers, crying out for all the roadside delicacies which were a part of the cacophony, or rather music, of the sea breeze and waves.
I came to know that the stalls were removed because the beaches were to be kept clean. Naturally, we asked for it, when we used to litter the coast with leftovers and wastes. Right?
So now you want to eat, then go out of the beach area on the other side of the main road. But somehow the taste of what we eat now is different. We sit on plastic stools and tables instead of squatting on the sand; the vendors still cry out the same menu but it’s far away from the harmony of the splashing and lapping waves.
We still go to the shore, yet our appetite is not as satisfied. I miss the sight of lighted stalls lined on the sandy shore and wonder if others too feel the same. Then a thought gets me worried.
What if one fine day in a drive for modernisation they decide to take away the stalls altogether, from anywhere around us?
I feel that these wheeled snack providers are the sites where the town converges irrespective of being rich, poor, child, or adult. So sans these tinned mini cafes, we will be once and for all divided into different age or economic groups. Hygienic or unhygienic I hope, what I fear never happens.
These food stalls are part of our image of a seashore, and without them, it would be like a painting whose colours are somehow mismatched. Just imagine a seashore without any vendors or stalls — would we go for a family outing when we know that later we may have to end up in a four-walled hotel? There would be budget issues too. Right?
A tribute to the Thele-Walah
The ‘thela walahs’ as we call them are such an inseparable part of our Indian normal lives that it's difficult to imagine an Indian street without them. Imagine you are cooking and suddenly you realise that either green chilli or lemon is not in stock. What do you do? I am sure you ask your husband or kid or watchman to bring the things from the nearest stall on wheels (thela).
So if this thelas one day disappear, you may have to go to the nearest vegetable market for just some chilies which may be 1–2 km away in cities. The ting-ting-ting of the ice- candy or kulfi man even today reminds us of our childhood excitement to rush after him where the kids of the whole chawl or street used to meet. But now the ting-ting is very rare and, one day, our grandchildren may never know the special nostalgic innocence attached to the sound.
How we take for granted these trivial things in our lives!
I realise that these un-reckoned trivial people are the necessities who may be missed only when they cease to exist. Thinking of all these trivial people and things, I remember the words-
“Be like the salt whose presence may not be felt, but whose absence may definitely matter”. — Anonymous
So, I acknowledge these salts of my town whose absence must cause so many problems or disappointments in the daily walks of its inhabitants.
Hope is also the source of life. Isn’t it?
Coming back to the footwear problem — one day after many months, I heard
“Mama look!!” I turned toward the pointed finger and imagine my joy to see the familiar little shack of tin with the man surrounded by sandals and shoes sitting in his usual position. Of course, he was not in the same spot, but at a turn a few paces ahead. At that moment, I am sure even my footwear was elated to see the sight.
Note
The text is in Queen’s English. Thele-wala is the Indian vegetable seller on a cart. Pani-puri, Pav bhaji etc., are Indian spicy snacks enjoyed by all irrespective of age. Kulfi is a kind of condensed-milk home-made ice-cream.
The quote mentioned is a common saying we Indians refer to, in our daily lives. I found different versions of it on the web at different sites, also the Salt Quotes. But I have known it since my graduation days because this quote was one of the most important autographs I received from one of my teachers.
We students used to collect autographs from our teachers on the last day of college. I have a few which I have always tried to follow or inculcate in my life. Maybe it calls for another article, which I surely will do soon.
But, as I mentioned the above quote, was one of them, which one of my lecturers had given to me as an autograph and I have tried my best to reflect the words in my own life.
Join me to share some similar incidents which even you must have experienced.
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