I have two office boys. Technically they are men-ages 56 and 45. And technically now I have just one. Because the 56-year-old just died. This morning. He had been with us for 3 years. Not very long but long enough to earn him a lot of love from the staff, who organized birthday parties and presents for him.
Much of his charm was in his humility and his willingness to work. He rode a bicycle 20 kms to get to work one way. Apart from the office work he was also washing a dozen cars in the neighborhood and cleaning two homes. The 40 km cycle ride cost him. He had to have prostate surgery 2 years ago. After the surgery,I used to drop him home and during the 20 minute car ride, I heard the story of his life.
His father died when he was 10. With two younger children to feed, his mother farmed him out to a relative, who put him to work. With no education, all he could do was wash dishes or clean offices. In India, no matter how poor a man is, he gets a wife. So did he. He married an orphan girl. Marriage brought children, whom he was too poor to rear. His siblings took a son each. The third son he kept.
After the birth of the third son, his wife developed bipolar disorder. Of course, he didn't know it was bipolar. He, his family and the entire neighborhood thought it was the evil eye, evil spirits, the devil. He was accordingly advised him to reach out to god, religion, god-men, and the like. They did that for several years until I heard of it. I sent him to a psychiatrist who quickly sorted that out.
He told me his siblings chose not to keep up relations with him. They had no children of their own and looked after the sons he had given them very well but the boys didn't know he was their father. He said he didn't mind. He couldn't have looked after them. But his wife did.
He didn't speak much of the son left with him. Sons in India are precious creatures and perhaps that was why he never spoke of him. Because I learned today that his son is a waster. Just 18, he had left school, was taking money off his father and blowing it on friends, returning home late in the night. Maybe, he hadn't wanted me to know that about his son.
So anyway, a month ago, he developed kidney problems. He needed treatment. He had no money. What could he save on the very little he earned? His siblings of course, ignored him. The office collected money for his treatment. The owners of the houses and cars he cleaned came by the office to hand in their contributions to his treatment. But today he died.
So I was wondering,what had life given this man? Nothing except one hardship after another. Hindus would say he was repaying the sins of a past life and he was guaranteed the life of a king in his next life. Christians would say he was sure of a place in Heaven. Maybe and who am I to say if that is true or not?
But also I was wondering what was the point in this man's life? Could we learn anything from such a miserable life? From the years and dreary years of nothing but back breaking, thankless labor? He would have been better off as a butterfly living a couple of days only; but those days, sunny and flower-filled ones. I was thinking of him the whole day and finally I realized that yes, there is something to be learned.
That he didn't give up where thousands of others with far better lives do. That even a miserable, poor ragged life can inspire love and affection because of the completely uncomplaining and even smiling manner in which that life was embraced by him. My staff loved him. The owners of the cars he washed who visited the office in the last month asking about him, cared for him. I know from what he told me that his wife adored him.
His name was Rajkumar,meaning prince. Irony? Maybe not. You would need to be a prince to live 56 hard years with courage and dignity.
Much of his charm was in his humility and his willingness to work. He rode a bicycle 20 kms to get to work one way. Apart from the office work he was also washing a dozen cars in the neighborhood and cleaning two homes. The 40 km cycle ride cost him. He had to have prostate surgery 2 years ago. After the surgery,I used to drop him home and during the 20 minute car ride, I heard the story of his life.
His father died when he was 10. With two younger children to feed, his mother farmed him out to a relative, who put him to work. With no education, all he could do was wash dishes or clean offices. In India, no matter how poor a man is, he gets a wife. So did he. He married an orphan girl. Marriage brought children, whom he was too poor to rear. His siblings took a son each. The third son he kept.
After the birth of the third son, his wife developed bipolar disorder. Of course, he didn't know it was bipolar. He, his family and the entire neighborhood thought it was the evil eye, evil spirits, the devil. He was accordingly advised him to reach out to god, religion, god-men, and the like. They did that for several years until I heard of it. I sent him to a psychiatrist who quickly sorted that out.
He told me his siblings chose not to keep up relations with him. They had no children of their own and looked after the sons he had given them very well but the boys didn't know he was their father. He said he didn't mind. He couldn't have looked after them. But his wife did.
He didn't speak much of the son left with him. Sons in India are precious creatures and perhaps that was why he never spoke of him. Because I learned today that his son is a waster. Just 18, he had left school, was taking money off his father and blowing it on friends, returning home late in the night. Maybe, he hadn't wanted me to know that about his son.
So anyway, a month ago, he developed kidney problems. He needed treatment. He had no money. What could he save on the very little he earned? His siblings of course, ignored him. The office collected money for his treatment. The owners of the houses and cars he cleaned came by the office to hand in their contributions to his treatment. But today he died.
So I was wondering,what had life given this man? Nothing except one hardship after another. Hindus would say he was repaying the sins of a past life and he was guaranteed the life of a king in his next life. Christians would say he was sure of a place in Heaven. Maybe and who am I to say if that is true or not?
But also I was wondering what was the point in this man's life? Could we learn anything from such a miserable life? From the years and dreary years of nothing but back breaking, thankless labor? He would have been better off as a butterfly living a couple of days only; but those days, sunny and flower-filled ones. I was thinking of him the whole day and finally I realized that yes, there is something to be learned.
That he didn't give up where thousands of others with far better lives do. That even a miserable, poor ragged life can inspire love and affection because of the completely uncomplaining and even smiling manner in which that life was embraced by him. My staff loved him. The owners of the cars he washed who visited the office in the last month asking about him, cared for him. I know from what he told me that his wife adored him.
His name was Rajkumar,meaning prince. Irony? Maybe not. You would need to be a prince to live 56 hard years with courage and dignity.
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