It was the third day after my uncle's funeral at my native
place in Kerala. All of my uncle's siblings (there were nine of then) were at
home and had planned to be there for 10 days or so. There was melancholy
everywhere. I remember the last time the whole huge family had gathered
together was for the wedding of my uncle's son in the same house. That was
about six months ago. But now after half a year we were back again mourning the
death of a man who was dear and near to the people of the village. I was
sitting outside on the porch with my brother and two other cousins, fiddling
with two rabbits caged in the outhouse. They provided momentary and temporary
deviation to our grief stricken minds.
I heard the gate open and an old man limped in with great gusto
(you don't enter a house in Kerala without knocking at the gates). I wondered
who this man could be. I had never seen him before nor did he resemble anyone
in the house. So I could not conclude whether he was any distant relative of
ours.
He sat in one of the chairs which was laid on the house
front and started taking deep breaths. After calming himself down, he looked up
at us and started calling out my aunt's name -'Hamida!, Hamida!'
We were obviously dumbstruck. Suddenly an old man comes out
of nowhere and starts calling out my aunt with an unpolished, hard-line
authority. My aunt came out from the kitchen. I could tell even she was taken
aback by this abrupt entry. As she came closer, I noticed her facial expression
change drastically and she clutched her face as if in utter disbelief and tears
rolled down her cheeks. She stamerringly addressed him as 'Thangam Sir'. I
realized then that this old man must have been an old teacher of hers. She
signaled me to call out dad from inside. I went in and told him that an old man
by the name of Thangam was waiting outside and that I thought he was an old
teacher of his. My dad looked at me with a bee-stung face for a few seconds and
fastly paced outside to the porch. He normally never emoted much like my aunt but
now it was evident that even he too was surprised by this sudden arrival.
He immediately lent his hand to the old man and helped him
climb those few steps to the couch at the porch. By this time my aunt had
learned to take control over her expressive ways and had regained her
composure. One by one, all my aunts and uncles embarked. Even my grandma
welcomed him heartily. Here, I got a slight hint that the relationship this man
had with my family transcended way beyond a simple teacher-pupil relationship. Perhaps
the bonding was with the whole family.
Over the next one hour all of them sat and discussed and
remembered the old days bit by bit. Some memories were good and nostalgic and
others were grim and tragic. His narration reflected the many moods and times
my dad's family underwent during his early days. We, the second generation of
the family simply stood their in awe as we calculated the amount of depth that
was present in the childhoods of our mothers and fathers!
Like the state of many other Muslim women in our country,
even the women in our village were not allowed to pursue higher education. The
same would have happened with my aunts if not for the staunch opposition that
was raised by Thangam sir with my grandfather. On his advice and guidance, my aunts
became the first Muslim women to join the polytechnic college in
Amaravilla.
The interaction continued and moved onto grim topics like
poverty and the accompanying tough times. Well, I knew that my dad's family had
a fluctuating financial status but what I learned from Thangam Sir's narration
just blew my minds out. He narrated the incident from his perspective. I would
shorten it and narrate it in second person.
My dad was around 15 at that time when this incident
happened. Thangam Sir lived in the house opposite to my dad's house. It was
late morning and cooking for the afternoon lunch was about to begin. My first
aunt discovered that there was no rice at home and also no money to buy some.
So she sent my dad to get it from the nearby ration store at loan like they
were buying for quite some time now. Thangam Sir saw my dad move out of the
house but never saw him return back. After about an hour, he went into the
house and asked for dad. My aunt was in the kitchen and she confirmed Thangam
sir's notion. He also observed that the utensils kept on the stove for cooking
lunch lay idle for lack of ingredients. He immediately rushed out of the house
and walked to the ration store only to find my dad sitting there under a tree
with a sullen face. On inquiry he learnt that the shopkeeper had declined to
give him rice on loan as they failed to repay the amount of the earlier ones.
My dad, immature and at teenage at that time could not find the strength to
face his sisters and mother with no rice and had dreaded the possibility of
having to see them sad and in a state of self pity!
Thangam Sir finished the narration and everyone where in
tears. I saw my dad's eyes go wet too. Though I had a lump in my throat I
didn’t cry. Having said that, they cried because they had experienced it and
memories were still fresh in their minds.
Thangam Sir looked at us and said, “You people are lucky.
You will not experience the poverty and shortage your fathers and mothers
experienced. Because they have experienced it for you. God is great. He sees
everything and knows everything. And He will take you to high places." And
Thangam Sir's statement was true in this case. Now, all of them are financially
well off. Atleast none of them suffered from shortage of food, one of the basic
needs of life!
'They Have Experienced It For You'... Golden words by a wise
man. Though my religious credentials do not allow me to believe that phrase,
but still those few words epitomize and signify the fact that life is full of
hardships and you have to struggle and have faith in the Almighty so that He
helps you to endure those hardships. It rightly projects the truth of life and
propagated a ray of hope for all of us! After all they say, "Night is the
Darkest before Dawn." Yes it is indeed!
As Thangam Sir walked away I looked at him and thanked him
from my heart for making me practically realize such an important lesson in
life!
