A Sad Story With A Little Happy Ending

Today I was sitting in my mother's office. I was there because I wanted to see a movie, and the theatre was just a few minutes' walk away. As I was sitting reading the novel A Thousand Splendid Suns, an old man came, wearing tattered clothes. He was beaming. The second he saw me, he came to me, held me with both of his arms, and smiled, truly smiled. He almost embraced me, even thought we did not know each other. He asked about me to my mother, and after introductions were over, he immediately took a paper bag out, and out of it he took a Peda, sort of a milk cake. I extended my hand to accept it, but he refused to give it, and instead asked me to open my mouth. He lovingly put it in my mouth, all the while smiling. He said that he was overjoyed to have met me, and that his blessings would always be with me. I was puzzled, but also thankful to have met such a kind man. With another kind look and a goodbye, he left.

I asked my mother about him, and what I heard was, well, .......................... I can't describe what I exactly felt. My mother, it seemed, was paying for his grandchildren's education. It seemed his only son had passed away. Instead of being taken care of, he had to work here, in Mumbai, to take care of his daughter in law and two grandsons. He works in a local provision store, working hard, for daily wages, and sharing a single room with a few others, living uncomfortably. Maybe when he saw me, he remembered his grandchildren, or maybe even his dead son, but the joy, the peace and the kindness he possessed, despite being old, poor and far away from his family, it just was like a lightning bolt. All I could do was think about him. I thought about his grandchildren, and daughter in law living far away in Uttar Pradesh. What if the grandchildren don't even realize the sacrifice he's making for them? What if he gets sick? Would he be taken care of? Would he die alone? All these thoughts plagued my mind, but not his. He was happy, truly happy, and peaceful and content, while I am not, not by a long shot. A friend of mine went to a nearby slum to click the photographs of the children there for her photography competition. When I saw the pictures, it was not the image quality, or the wonderful editing that caught my attention, but their happy faces. My mother called that dear old man "Kacka". It was a loving name. Kacka's smile was haunting, his kindness something I can never forget, and his plight something I pray ends soon. He had so little, yet to show his joy, he gave me a small Peda, that itself is something I value more than all the gifts I have received. I pray that one day, he can go back to his family, and play with his grandchildren, like my grandfather played with me when I was small. I also pray that I don't forget Kacka's face, that I may learn from it, be content with what I have, and be thankful for it. I may feel sad now, because of that poor loving man's plight, but all the same, I am ................ grateful.

Today, I wrote a rather depressing poem, and when one of my regular readers, and a good friend, read it, she told me not to write crap like that, and that I should appreciate what I have. I told her then that I was grateful, and that I had written something to show that I was grateful. Well, dear friend, this is it. Know from it, that I would never commit the sin of being ungrateful. This is a sad story, no doubt, but in the end, there is happiness. There is no regret. Thank you Kacka, you taught me a really valuable lesson, that happiness can come no matter who or what you are. Thank you Kacka.