Profile: Balendu Yadav is a Bihari man in his late forties. Settled in Delhi-NCR, and in a corporate career spanning 20 years, he has achieved what many would call ‘the pinnacle of success’.
Scene 1:
Ambience: It was around 7pm. The city had just been blessed with a drizzle, lasting almost an hour. Now standing in his sprawling office room on the 20th floor of a skyscraper, he watched the well-dressed people, mostly corporate employees, enjoying the pleasant weather outside. Where he stood was high enough to give him a clear view of the sprawling and ever-growing metropolis.
With pride born out of his career success, he got into a mental reverie: “20 years ago, when I came to this city, I had nothing. I was vulnerable, ignorant and I was too eager to find a small patch to put my feet in this bustling place. And when I joined this company, nobody treated me like somebody. I was just a Bihari lad always wanting to stick my head up. Ahh…those years! They call it rat race, I say, survival of the fittest. Look around, my peers are now all second or third raters, and I’m somewhere high above. Now,you can almost do anything. What not: houses, chauffeured cars, parents showered with money, my kids attending the best school.”
Scene 2: Someone knocked on the door. It was his chauffeur; he didn’t like people using the word ‘driver’. It demeaned him.
Rajkumar (the chauffeur in white uniform, clean shaven with a stooped head): Sir, shall I take your bag?
Balendu instead asked: Tell me Rajkumar, what’s the weather like downstairs? I mean, is it suitable for an evening stroll?
Rajkumar, with head nodding, confirmed: The sky above is blue, and the heat doesn’t sting you.
With hands behind his back, and the face appearing boyish, Balendu announced: You take the car home. I’ll just take a stroll. I want to relive my past for a change.
Scene 3: He strolled, then after a while halted at a bus stop after seeing Bus No. 135. It was the bus he used to take in the beginning years at the present company. It was simply nostalgic. He was suddenly reminded of his trying days as a young man. It was one of those noisy buses always packed with people. Today, it wasn’t jam-packed, there were empty seats. He paid the conductor, who was startled to see such a neatly dressed person wrapped in a strange perfume scent.
Baledu occupied a window seat, pulled up the window to feel the breeze blowing at his face. It was different or unlike the air in his office, car and at home. After a while the bus pulled up at one of the stops, and a swarthy, lean man in a discoloured shirt and bell-bottomed trousers ran up with his rubber slippers flapping against the ground to ask the conductor ‘does this bus go to Anand Vihar station?’ in a thick Bhojpuri accent. The conductor nodded.
He wasn’t alone. His old parents climbed up, and then he came up hauling a heavy duffel bag. After ensuring that the parents were seated, he paid for the ticket and requested the conductor to remind him where to get off. He sat next to Balendu and the parents on the seats before. The son sat leaning his face close to his parents’ backs, and the mother, almost sitting sideways, after a while asked, “How much did you pay for the bus?” The son replied ‘almost nothing’. The father, also sitting sideways with his face brought closer to the son’s, listened intently. The mother, not satisfied, asked again, “How much will you pay for the bus to Vrindavan?” With a face slightly annoyed, the son replied, “Ma, why do you worry so much about the cost when all that you have to do is to think of your dream destination?”
Hearing this, a subtle smile emerged on the father’s wrinkled and swarthy face. It was the smile of a happy man. The mother had something to say: “This will cost you a lot of money. I shouldn’t have expressed my wish, instead we would have simply stayed at home.” To this, the son replied, “Ma, not all things can be bought and some can be priced. Did I ever ask how much you spent on bringing me up with all the love of the world?” This silenced the mother, and she turned away with a smile on her face, and soon pulled up the corner of her saree to dry her eyes.
Since they talked in Bhojpuri, Balend understood every word, even the nuances of emotions. He was reminded of his parents in one of the ‘luxurious old age homes’ in Patna, pining to see their long-gone son who only sent money but was hardly around. The man next to him had just held up the mirror before him. There he decided: I’m going to get off at the next stop to rush to the airport.
‘You mother carries you in her tummy for 9 months, 3 years on her lap and on her back, and the rest of the life in her heart. Such love cannot be priced.’
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