Mr. & Mrs. Potter

It is often heard that life's lesson are learned the hard way & experiences in the journey, but I believe life gives us its best only when we don't expect it to. I am in a uncanny mood these days because of obvious reasons, but they don't hold a meaning with regard to this post, except the fact that no matter which mood you are in, love touches your soul. You might have a similar experience. Some days,  when you are in a pensive mood, sitting alone in your room, at one corner of the bed, looking out of the window your Mom arrives from nowhere, and she starts whisking your hair. You reply "Mom, not now", but inside you know, that touch soothes you!

So, this real life story goes this way, I and my brother were returning today from a "Brothers dinner party", because none of us has the pleasure of having someone of opposite sex as a mate!

Now, It has been five years since I am in NCR region. I don't know how longer I'l be here but two things would never evade my thoughts , the scorching sun and the spine chilling cold.

It's summer and I decided to buy a pot(pitcher to be exact) for I don't have the means to take pleasure of a refrigerator here( God knows how much I miss my engineering hostel's watercooler, because I think the company forgot to put a thermostat there. So, water there, was directly from the arctic itself!).

I asked a grocery merchant, if there was a potter nearby and he lifted his arm to point his fingers in the forward direction of our walk. I could see the vendors sprinkling water on vegetables to make them look fresh and I could hear them yelling the prices of vegetables almost one third of what they speak during Primetime i.e. 6-9 pm. I was thinking that the IIM's should consider making a case study on these small fruit and vegetable vendors as they lack basic education yet they know how to shell out maximum penny from your pocket. We( I and my brother) thought that we were going the wrong way when one on of the other merchants on being enquired answered that we were standing two homes ahead of the potter's.

We stepped backwards in that dim light to find a short and timid, bald-old man about the age of 90 lying on a khaat. 

I asked "Baba, do you have a pot?"

"Many!",he replied. I was impressed by the repartee!

He stood while clinching the sides of the khaat with both of his hands. A normal procedure used by the elderly as the body is too weak to lift its own weight and the spine turns stiff.
He opened the already peeking doors and invited us both in. Being the Indian Viking version(I'm 182 and my younger brother is 186 cms!). We both had to enter at one time; the height the gate was barely 5 feet and width, barely 2.5 feet.

Now here I can describe the extreme poverty and filth as an award hungry western journalist but my intentions are different here.
For readers appetite, I would just say it was not the poorest household I've ever seen, but wasn't too far either.

There was a 5' * 5' bed probably 50 years old which occupied most of the room's space, a sky blue sheet on which the prints were barely visible, anymore. A few utensils on the open cupboard, a hanging mirror, and most of the left out space occupied by pots. The adjacent "place" might have been built for storing purpose but here it was a kitchen cum washroom cum store.

On the bed lay an elderly woman who too might well be in her 90's. The tests of time had made her look like a stiff rod, while the wrinkles told their own story. She was almost as thin as the sheet itself for she occupied less than half of the bed area. She again ,after seeing us clinched her hands to the sides to sit up, for reasons already mentioned.

The old man showed us various shapes and designs. Each time I asked about the price , he would ask his wife to tell us so.
A normal eye would find nothing but usual business in that, An untrained eye would say the woman having her say throughout her life, but a mature eye would see the real thing. The man was not asking her to tell the price because it was her say, but because he still wanted her to feel equally important and to listen to her voice. Obvious as they couldn't talk much because both of them were not in the best of their ages nor health and they also had the "boon" of poverty.

I first thought of bargaining, but my conscience responded by telling me that I wasted more money in the day on useless things than I will save here. Meanwhile, the old woman asked me to sit beside her. A generous show of care which is no more relevant in our "civilized" society. I sat beside her while she asked her husband to bring some water to check if there is a leakage. I could see the happiness on the man's face being asked by her, even if its just water to check a seepage!

While the old man was off to fetch water the old lady told me " He gets troubled the whole day, I am too sick from two years, I wish...." she stopped in the middle as her husband had arrived fetching water, but her unsaid words were clearly understood. I gave the old man the money which he redirected to give to his lady love. She took the money generously and tied it in a knot in her saree. I could see the grin on her face. Maybe, today's medicine could now be bought or a meal for another time. As I stood up she blessed us" jeete raho beta" to which I answered "chalte hain dadi".

This episode taught me numerous things and above all, about love. Love for a 90 year old man for his wife and the unparalleled affection of his wife towards him. Their degrading bodies couldn't degrade their love for each other nor the poverty. I wonder whether the recent researches of the type "Being in good shape for a good marriage" ,or "Sex, the most essential part of a relationship" have any real meaning!

I didn't write the head of the post as Mr. & Mrs. Potter because they were not two different people for me. They were One.

For me one would be blessed to get a love like this. I ask the Gods to bestow me with one and you too!

Have The Gods Left Me?

I wonder whether the Gods have left me?

Standing alone in the midst of dark woods, I can hear the sound of crickets rattling in, the dark silence craving in,
Something which the cranium can't take anymore in.

I feel like a Gladiator, losing honor  in arena; my face covered in the ruble of dust, I can hear the voices of people surrounding me, some cheering me up, the most mocking at me, for the one who thought himself as Hercules has now given in.

I can feel them spitting on my face, I can stand , retaliate but the mind choses to stuck on the ground while the body is still breathing , the heart has given in, for I am a mortal; even a diamond, at some point breaks in.

My laughter is now fake, as fake is the sorrow, there's only flesh left behind, the soul is dug deep inside in a grave, I can't reach my within, Sometimes I wonder whether the Gods have given in, sometimes I wonder have the Gods left me, I now can't take anymore in!