The Laundry Man
Only rarely do I stop at his side of the road. Big muddy pits opening their mouths into the narrow ditch carrying drainage water, which most of the times is choked by the plastic poly bags and liberally scattered ready-to-eat empty food packets creating a filthy puddle alongside, unavoidably catch my attention as I try to drive faster through the bumpy road, only to get past his area as soon as I can. My personal hatred for him drives me more into this disgusting feeling as and when I pass through his road. He usually never keeps my clothes ready. Its always a 2-3 ride affair. "Aap aadhe ghante se aao, taiyyar milenge", he replies. And God knows, his clock ticks like tortoise! His half an hour ends at my one and a half hour. And to add to it? His ATTITUDE! RUDE! RASH! He looks into my eyes as if he is gonna kill me through his hateful eyes! The slack won't do his work on time and would throw fumes when I would shout at him through the other side of the road asking him to ready my clothes.
"You're not my regular customer madam, that I should give you my priority", he said once, and from that day onwards, I unceasingly try to insult him, the same of which, he does in return.
Today was no different. I had already made an empty round to his corner and returned warning him to get my stuff ready within half an hour. I was in a bit of hurry today (which incidentally I am always in- every time I bump into him..) as papa had to rush for an important meeting and he was waiting for clothes. Papa was getting more and more impatient with every passing minute, so I finally decided to let go of my grudge for once(again) and I left for him.
As usual, he was up with the same lines. I controlled myself. I patiently parked my bike yards away from his small one room tenement and stood beside it waiting for him to spare me my belongings.
I put on my MP3 player and my eyes started scanning the whole place. Broken road, dirt and dust, all over the place... but I was at once surprised to find the area around his small dwelling a bit clean and mannerly maintained. The small broken tiles which popped up right at the starting of his territory, although ill fitted, were properly swept. I began analyzing his one room kingdom. Though technically speaking, it was two rooms but I won't appreciate this idea. They were separated by an old yellow double-bed sheet held vertically by a hanging rod. The bed sheet was torn and contained numerous holes every here and there. He stood behind an old wooden brown table with a rust color heavy iron in his dark hands. My gaze fixed at his muscles. They beard the witnesses of his toils and hard work. Balloon shaped muscles of his upper arm. He moved his strong hands with such ease at the shirt I kept on staring.
My stare was only broken when the shopkeeper from the next shop called him telling him that he had a phone call. He quickly rushed into his shop and picked up his phone. Perhaps it was from his another customer whom he had not sent their clothes and who was fuming upon him. All he was doing was constantly assuring the one on line of the timely delivery of their belongings and all of a sudden he cut the line! With a pang of anger in his eyes, he walked out of the shop, only to find his small kid playing in the mud. He picked him up in his arms and his anger melted into his love. He kissed his forehead, shook his already dirty clothes off the mud, and lay him into the another room (partition) of his abode(and shop). From inside, a voice came. It was a feminine voice. His wife. She uttered something inconspicuous. Then she came out. She had an another child in her arms. The child must be around 6-7 months old.
Watching the whole scene, I began understanding the big picture. The Laundry Man must be around 24 or 25. He had a wife. Two small children. The four people in his family were confined to this small tenement which was their bed room, their kitchen, their bath room and also their workplace. Their world was confined within this small poorly lit( by a yellow bulb) tenement. Still they were doing the best they could. The wife was good looking. Her eye brows properly maintained, her hair neatly tied and her sari mannerly worn. She kept her small accommodation neat and tidy and he respected her. And loved her. When she looked into his eyes, and when he looked into her eyes, I instantly knew they were in love. There was a strong protectiveness in his eyes for her. When she sat outside on the stool, he constantly kept an eye on everyone who passed by or stood there. Protecting his wife from the lustful eyes of the boys toddling around there and at the same time insisting his two year old son to stay within his territory; he was a family person. And looking at his condition, the amount of money he earns and the daily ill-speak he goes through, but still moving on each day, working and earning that little pie of happiness which he shares with his family in that one room tenement made me bow at his perseverance. A strange sense of respect arouse inside me for him. And I must admit, this sense of respect has perhaps always been there but my hatred for him never made way to anything this good. I have always voluntarily suppressed any positive vibes for him. But this time when I saw his eyes as soft and watery instead of dark and hateful, I just could not help but adore him deep inside my heart.
I wished I could do something for him....but perhaps...he'll make it through...
"Madam ho gaya.", he called me. I stood up, switched off my MP3 player and headed to collect my belongings. This time, with a smile.
"You're not my regular customer madam, that I should give you my priority", he said once, and from that day onwards, I unceasingly try to insult him, the same of which, he does in return.
Today was no different. I had already made an empty round to his corner and returned warning him to get my stuff ready within half an hour. I was in a bit of hurry today (which incidentally I am always in- every time I bump into him..) as papa had to rush for an important meeting and he was waiting for clothes. Papa was getting more and more impatient with every passing minute, so I finally decided to let go of my grudge for once(again) and I left for him.
As usual, he was up with the same lines. I controlled myself. I patiently parked my bike yards away from his small one room tenement and stood beside it waiting for him to spare me my belongings.
I put on my MP3 player and my eyes started scanning the whole place. Broken road, dirt and dust, all over the place... but I was at once surprised to find the area around his small dwelling a bit clean and mannerly maintained. The small broken tiles which popped up right at the starting of his territory, although ill fitted, were properly swept. I began analyzing his one room kingdom. Though technically speaking, it was two rooms but I won't appreciate this idea. They were separated by an old yellow double-bed sheet held vertically by a hanging rod. The bed sheet was torn and contained numerous holes every here and there. He stood behind an old wooden brown table with a rust color heavy iron in his dark hands. My gaze fixed at his muscles. They beard the witnesses of his toils and hard work. Balloon shaped muscles of his upper arm. He moved his strong hands with such ease at the shirt I kept on staring.
My stare was only broken when the shopkeeper from the next shop called him telling him that he had a phone call. He quickly rushed into his shop and picked up his phone. Perhaps it was from his another customer whom he had not sent their clothes and who was fuming upon him. All he was doing was constantly assuring the one on line of the timely delivery of their belongings and all of a sudden he cut the line! With a pang of anger in his eyes, he walked out of the shop, only to find his small kid playing in the mud. He picked him up in his arms and his anger melted into his love. He kissed his forehead, shook his already dirty clothes off the mud, and lay him into the another room (partition) of his abode(and shop). From inside, a voice came. It was a feminine voice. His wife. She uttered something inconspicuous. Then she came out. She had an another child in her arms. The child must be around 6-7 months old.
Watching the whole scene, I began understanding the big picture. The Laundry Man must be around 24 or 25. He had a wife. Two small children. The four people in his family were confined to this small tenement which was their bed room, their kitchen, their bath room and also their workplace. Their world was confined within this small poorly lit( by a yellow bulb) tenement. Still they were doing the best they could. The wife was good looking. Her eye brows properly maintained, her hair neatly tied and her sari mannerly worn. She kept her small accommodation neat and tidy and he respected her. And loved her. When she looked into his eyes, and when he looked into her eyes, I instantly knew they were in love. There was a strong protectiveness in his eyes for her. When she sat outside on the stool, he constantly kept an eye on everyone who passed by or stood there. Protecting his wife from the lustful eyes of the boys toddling around there and at the same time insisting his two year old son to stay within his territory; he was a family person. And looking at his condition, the amount of money he earns and the daily ill-speak he goes through, but still moving on each day, working and earning that little pie of happiness which he shares with his family in that one room tenement made me bow at his perseverance. A strange sense of respect arouse inside me for him. And I must admit, this sense of respect has perhaps always been there but my hatred for him never made way to anything this good. I have always voluntarily suppressed any positive vibes for him. But this time when I saw his eyes as soft and watery instead of dark and hateful, I just could not help but adore him deep inside my heart.
I wished I could do something for him....but perhaps...he'll make it through...
"Madam ho gaya.", he called me. I stood up, switched off my MP3 player and headed to collect my belongings. This time, with a smile.
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