Subir Roy: They still have not come to get you?

Unfortunate folks like me who have to spend a good part of their day pursuing what the print media has to say could not have asked for less. Not only was a miserable year ending, all agreed there was a distinct chance that the new year would be worse. There could even be a war or two. How to remain positive, I wondered. 

As if the big picture was not bad enough, the small picture was equally so. The maid, who cooks for us, came up with the pressure cooker stopper in several pieces on her palm. Could I get it repaired or get a new one? Of course, I could. However, not only was it a Sunday but New Year’s Day to boot. An open even semi-decent shop would be hard to find. 

Then I had a brainwave. Why not try the little multipurpose repair shop in a nearby lane run by a highly likeable middle-aged man. I was in luck and he had no trouble recognising me. Then, to be a bit nice, I said, “We only remember people when we are in need, never just to say hello.” It went right home, a smile lit his face. He remembered my yen for tea and stirred himself to organise it. 

“No, today is my turn,” I said, and set out to find an open tea shop. None were and I returned empty-handed. My repair specialist said authoritatively, “You can’t find them today, I can,” and set out to do so. The tea came, we relished it slowly. There was no question of me trying to pay, and all along he worked as I sipped. 

His craft was fascinating. He seemed to have an incredible collection of little bits, which go into the making of an equally large number of little things that make our kitchens and homes run. In between doing my job, he attended to the little needs of a plethora of people who seemed like neighbours and knew him well. 

Someone wanted a gas connection application pushed, someone else asked him to take delivery of his refilled cooking gas cylinder as he would be out of home the whole day. He was the local technical expert, an advisor on official procedure and a lot more, all rolled into one. 

And as he worked, we talked. The big topic of the day was a Trinamool Congress leader getting arrested by the CBI in connection with a Ponzi scheme that had gone bust. Our man for all seasons, putting down bigwigs, said with self-deprecating humour, “I better be careful where I go as it could be my turn next.” 

This prompted me to share a story, which may be apocryphal in part, but is nevertheless full of meaning and a part of the folklore of the Anandabazar group. When the Emergency was imposed, those in the group were a bit worried. The flagship newspaper had been severely critical of the chief minister and he would now get the chance to take revenge. 

Soon, the worst fears came true. The star columnist of the group, who had given face and substance to the campaign against the chief minister, was arrested. A pall of gloom fell over the newsroom. All were mostly silent. Then a reporter, not quite young but low in ranking, shook his head and said, “Now they will surely come for me.”

The mood was immediately lifted. All were amused by this reporter’s sense of self-importance out of all proportions to his journalistic stature. This is not the end of the story. For the next couple of years, he was the butt of workplace ragging with people periodically asking, “Dada, they have still not come to get you?”

My anecdote went down well, laughter mixing with the last dregs of the tea. By then my work was done. The stopper was repaired, with a thing or two in it replaced, not junked altogether. I marvelled again at the value that this man kept creating by repairing at nominal cost a lot of things that in developed societies would simply be thrown away and be replaced. 

When I asked how much I would have to pay, he stunned me by quoting an utterly insignificant amount. “You are embarrassing me,” I said, but he stuck to his word and declined a paisa more. He had obviously factored in the value of my company and the pleasant chat we had in the winter sun, such as it was despite the near perpetual smog. He was neither poor nor prosperous. What defined him was his grace and simplicity. 

When I returned to my apartment block, the guards at the gate surprised me by saying, “Happy New Year, sir.” They were barely literate and some of us had with effort taught them to wish residents “good morning” because it made everyone feel better. Now they had added a new year greeting in English to their small repertoire. 

My mood had lifted. Come what may, I was convinced it would not be a totally negative year, not with so many good people around.

subirkroy@gmail.com