Because they did it for you....

 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!