When I had just started my career in Bombay, I left my own home and lived in the house of a small family of four including two toddlers. The man worked as a sweeper somewhere and the lady was a housewife. It was a tiny two-bedroom independent company-owned house in which they had given me one bedroom. The bathroom was shared. It suited me fine. I left for work by 7am and hardly ever returned till after 10pm. The house was near the station so it was a blessing in a city like Bombay.
They tried to respect my privacy whenever I was at home, which was rare, but the toddlers wandered in and out and the family cupboards were in the room, so they too came in and out, apologetically though. I was living out of a suitcase at the time, so I didn’t need much other than the bed in the room.
It was a busy family. I could see that they were living hand to mouth, but the front door was always open and friends and relatives were always coming, eating and going. The man always wore a shirt with a front pocket and his hand was also going in and out of it as he dished out a couple of notes to all askers. He never said no to anybody and nobody went away without sharing a meal with them. He would always invite me to eat with them, but I never did. Though I told him my name a couple of times, he insisted on calling me ‘Parmeshwar’ simply because, as he said, I was his ‘atithi’.
I myself was on a shoestring budget and on many months, I could not afford the paltry rent he was charging me. My payments were erratic but he never asked or reminded me. If I gave him some money any time, he would just slip it into that shirt pocket without counting it. He probably knew it was all I had.
Sometimes, if I got up in time, they would give me tea, but on most days, my breakfast would be the 4 anna tea at the station. Lunch was typically a banana or two with that wonderful ‘Energy’ milk drink. It costed me 45 paise but it kept me going. Dinner was again some cheap rubbish somewhere, but I was young and could digest anything and everything.
On the nights when I had Rs.3.50 in my pocket, I borrowed the owner’s cycle and went to the local college’s canteen which served a simple but unlimited thali. Sometimes, my boss would ask me to take somebody (usually a government clerk) for a ‘business lunch’ and I would do my best to take him to a Gujarati unlimited thali place. And on those days, I ate and ate and ate as though I didn’t know if I was going to eat ever again, which was partially true many times. The comic part was that the guest also ate as much as I did, so I knew he was also in the same boat and neither of us felt the least bit embarrassed!
It would be nice to romanticize my life and think I was a ‘great struggler’ or something, but really, it didn’t seem like that at all at that time. Even now, I don’t think of it as tough life. I was a just one of the hundreds of millions of people trying to make it in a fast-moving city. I never once thought of hunger or the horrible train rides hanging on for dear life. It was all very normal.
My boss told me that if I wanted to make it in life, I needed some additional qualifications. He suggested I do an MBA and recommended a well-known institute, run by a religious organization, a bit further away from my office. The classes began at 7am which meant I had to leave ‘home’ by 5:30. It meant I would be disturbing the people at home at that hour but I promised myself to be as quiet as possible.
I went and registered myself for the two-year MBA course at the institute that was starting later that month. And then I set about scrambling and scrounging to accumulate the huge amount of Rs.500/- that was the yearly fee! I don’t remember how I managed to do it, but I did and presented myself at the institute on the first day of class. At the reception, the clerk accepting the fees said that I was too early and the rest of the staff hadn’t yet come in, so could I please collect the receipt and Identity card the next day. He would see to it that I was allowed to attend the class without these. He spoke to some people and made it happen and happily, proudly and importantly, I took the first step to go higher in my career.
The next morning, the counter was closed and I thought it was because again I was too early. But it remained shut even when classes were over. Again, the following day, I found the counter closed and that was when alarm buttons started popping in my stomach. I attended the class and then asked to see the Dean, a kind looking elderly priest-like person, who listened to my panicked, rambling statements and asked me so nicely “Did you take a receipt of some sort?”
The earth slipped away beneath my feet. He told me that the ‘receptionist’ had run away with a few students’ money, but most of them had a receipt. But he couldn’t help me and very kindly told me that I should repay the fees if I wanted to continue. I was too damned young and naïve and other than choking and stammering, I could not say anything. I was devastated.
There was a small park in the area and I went and sat on a bench there and cried and cried and cried my helpless heart out. That is all I could do. There was no way for me to gather so much money again. My MBA dream was over, at least for the foreseeable future.
I went back to my usual life, but I had mentally taken a huge hit. My head was permanently in turmoil, cursing myself for being so foolish and trusting and frankly, idiotic. I cut a sorry figure when I narrated the event to my boss. He was not cruel but I knew that inside his mind, he was shaking his head! How could anybody hand over such a huge amount in cash and not even take a receipt!
Anyway, other troubles were brewing. My daily lunch was taking its toll. Having bananas and ‘Ice cold Energy’ for lunch on an absolutely empty stomach for weeks on end is definitely not a good idea. Slowly, my chest got congested, I caught a horrid cold and very soon, it graduated to pneumonia! Maybe it was the financial loss too but my resistance was low and I fell very sick, with not even money to go to the doctor.
On many days I was running a high fever and I just shivered and trembled under the sheets. The lady of the house would give me tea and pav since I could not keep anything down. Once, as my illness peaked, the lady sat with me through the night, holding my hand and praying and trying to pacify me, as I thrashed and rambled deliriously in my fever.
I have never seen or met such people in my life. Some people just have so much kindness, looking after and even feeding a stranger when they themselves had so little to live on. And some people who are so cruel that they can steal a young boy’s savings and pound his budding dreams to dust. And others who pretended to be Godly but were as cruel, who knew a kid was speaking the truth, but wouldn’t set the issue right.
I was too proud to contact my family after having set out to make my own life, with all the arrogant and brash confidence of youth. But they heard of my illness and general condition somehow.
One day, a young lady friend, who was our neighbour and my sister’s best friend, turned up at my little house with my younger brother in tow. She forced and coaxed and cajoled me to come back home which I did, with my tail temporarily between my legs.
At the time, I owed the landlord about 10 months in rent. A few months later, I went to apologize for disappearing as I did and offered to pay him his arrears. He refused to accept it saying that I was young and I would need it. I tried to force him but he wouldn’t budge. They don’t make such people anymore.
Oh! And as for the young lady friend who brought me back home that day. A few years later, she became my wife.