A CHANCE MEETING -II
A CHANCE MEETING -II
BAZAAR WALK
Yes, I had arrived. My planning spread over several days now was coming to fruition. I was walking the streets of Kondli Bazaar.
A world away from the swanky department stores more frequented. Crowded and congested, there were significant and small grocery stores on both sides of the road, sans an opening where a huge water treatment plant had a Government Girls School for neighbourly company.
The shops were an example of an India, changing and yet clinging to the old. The kind of shops, called Kiryana stores that the older generations have grown up with are now ebbing away. In some ways, it reminded me of shopping trips with my mother and sister when we were still children.
All the shops seemed to be full of customers, the road seemed full of customers. Cycles, cars, tempos, autos, and E-Rickshaws were ditto. In fact, crowded shops had many customers standing on the side road and shouting their orders. Obviously, this place was very popular.
In preparation for this visit, I had asked for a recommended shop from a friend, a regular visitor. Now my sharp eyes hidden behind fancy sunglasses were hunting that special shop. I walked slowly, looked left, turned my neck to the right, and peered at every banner, all in vain. So taking matters in hand, I decided to chuck the recommendation and make a self-decision.
A CHANCE MEETING- I
A few yards ahead a shop caught my attention. It was sans any customer (strange) and looked clean and efficient (the winning factor). Standing by the road I could see shampoos, talcum powders, oil bottles, and biscuit packets stacked up neatly. The owner sitting in his managerial chair looked up and our eyes met. The next moment I walked into the shop.
Harioumji, as I later found out ran the shop with his son. He was happy to service one-time buyers like me while waiting for and finalising wholesale orders that go in lakhs. “Khaali rehene se accha hai ki main aap jaise customers ko welcome karoon,” he told me later when I queried about me vis a vis his true wholesale orders.
Flourishing out the long list from my bag, I began the day’s transaction. “Pehle aap aaram se baithiye” Harioumji said whilst his assistant dusted a plastic chair and offered it to me. Next came a glass of water and some tips on how to fight back skin allergies. Perhaps Harioumji by offering unsolicited medical advise to customers fulfills a deeply buried and unfulfilled desire to join the medical profession. Must ask him on my next visit.
A few minutes into the transaction, I got the message loud and clear. As a customer, I only had to tell what I wanted, not move from counter to counter. My movements were making the duo nervous. Here, I had to only say, and lo behold the assistant would jump in and place it on the main counter. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yes, bills like this still exist.
By now the son and presumably the heir had also arrived, presumably from home as immediately on entering the shop he plopped a big tiffin carrier on the side table. Lunch had arrived. Harioumji meanwhile kept up the conversation. As a wholesale supplier to several boarding schools, working people’s hostels, and some hotels thrown in, he needed to keep the best quality ingredients. “I will lose my big customers if word goes around that I have compromised.” he conspiratorially said. Perhaps it also acted as a faith-building exercise.
Wanting to explore the market a little more, I left my purchases in the safe custody of Harioumji and set forth. But the deeper I ventured, the crowded it got, until finally I called it a day and turned back.
A CHANCE MEETING -II
Now came the big question of how to return home. After all the border issue was still very much there. Some brainstorming later Harioumji reassured me that he would look into the matter. He called an E-Rickshaw driver, fixed the fare, got all my purchases adjusted in the rickshaw, and finally warned the rickshaw driver not to over-charge me or leave me stranded somewhere. He walked down the shop’s steps with me and we did a Namaste to each other. The assistant waved from inside the shop. It was an amazing send-off, so much so that I forgot to purchase the tomatoes, yes those that were selling at 20/-. Oh! What a loss, I reprimanded myself later that evening.
If the auto had been bumpy, to say the least, the rickshaw was a ride on the moon with all its craters and its unknowns. That our roads are so full of potholes and so badly broken can only be realised while seated in a rickshaw. That is definitely by far the biggest achievement of these cubicles on wheels.
And so we moved to the border, and safely crossed it (E-Rickshaws can travel to the moon and beyond. No fines, no questions asked). Somewhere halfway in the reverse darshan, the driver, probably a conversationalist by nature, got talking. Or rather, shouting above all the noise and the din that accompanies an Indian road. The loud noise of the engine kept rattling and when interspersed with the sharp noises of vehicles passing by, the hot wind blowing along and the voices of the people trying to talk above all this, ensured the creation of an orchestra of its own, a sound pollution orchestra nonetheless.
Lukman, the driver of the E-Rickshaw showed deep interest in sharing all family secrets. Though purportedly talking to me, his efforts of trying to rise above the omnipresent noise ensured that all who wanted to catch snippets of his conversation could easily do so.
THE ‘KADAK’ & THE TOUGH MERCHANT
Originally from Bihar, Lukman travelled all over the country, to Bhutan, Bangladesh, and Nepal as a commercial truck driver. Like most others in his profession, the burnout was swift and ruthless. But a growing family in district Darbhanga meant that he couldn’t give up.
That is until he met Harioumji. The hardcore businessman and the lowly truck driver struck a friendship. The wealthier friend supported the other by purchasing for him an E-Rickshaw at a mighty sum of Rs. 1 Lakh. “He set me on a better path. I can never refuse him.” Lukman commented, gratitude exuding from every word of his. Suddenly all the heat, the potholes (almost leading to a spinal collapse), and the sheer unnecessity of travelling so far seemed irrelevant. Harioumji had paid his dues for the next life by extending a helping hand in this one.
Lukman continued “ I am a very strict man.” Kadak was the exact word he used to describe himself. “Now I work as much as I want, not more not less.”
Today he is his own master. His daughter is married to a government servant, a Ticket Collector in Indian Railways, presently stationed in Gujarat. “I gave a dowry of Rs. 8 Lakh, but it was worth it.” ( Yes, marriage dowries still exist and are thriving) “My mother couldn’t witness the wedding. That is my only regret.” His elder son works in the big metropolis. “He doesn’t listen to me, so he remains bereft of wise financial advise.” he continues nonchalantly. The younger son is a paratrooper in the Indian Army currently stationed in Himachal Pradesh. “He listens to me. So he is doing better with his money.” Lukman turns to look at me. “And none of this could have happened without Harioumji.”
A STRANGE SIGHT ON THE ROADS
Lukman continues, sometimes turning his head while talking, but mostly he seems to be conversing with the wind and space ahead of him. A group of schoolchildren waiting at the bus stand look up in astonishment as we pass by. As also does a group of people sitting in an open mini truck. They think Lukman and I are arguing at least if not fighting. All along the way, heads look up as they suddenly hear loud talk. Lukman is in full flow.
As I enter my residential society surrounded by several bags and a shouting driver, the guards on duty find the scene strange, to say the least. Protocol however forces them to say nothing. They merely stare after us as our entourage moves on. Lukman helps me carry the goods home. He refuses anything more than a glass of water and his fare but doesn’t refuse some extra tip. “Main bahut kadak insaan hoon” he repeats. “Main apne ghar ka khaana khaata hoon, bas. Harioumji ke saath chai le leta hoon kabhi kabhi.” Only Harioumji, the unlikely friend has a special place.
“I will drop you next time,” says Lukman as he starts his rickshaw and begins the long drive back.
IN RETROSPECT
I do not know whether and when I will return to the famed bazaar. A rough calculation told me that I was nowhere near a financial boost with the visit. But what I learned and gained goes way beyond that. In a world fast moving towards self-centredness, a world that gets jumpy over minor issues, strange friendships can get formed, stranger kindnesses can get shown and the strangest experiences can be had.
Actually, in hindsight, I may revisit Kondli, if only to meet up with Harioumji and his assistant and tell him that that afternoon he helped me regain some faith in humanity again.
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