The Ragpicker

A long day in office normally leaves me cranky and short fused. I decided to have a fag nevertheless on my way home, even though it was pretty close to 9:00 PM in the night. As I lit up the fag and enjoyed a drag, I noticed a shabbily dressed old man standing near the shop counter. The man was fidgety and had the looks of poverty having made a permanent hovel over his destiny. The shirt he was wearing was definitely a hand me down, which had seen a lot of hands in its life time. The lungi he was wearing was tattered and probably had not been washed for a long time for fear of it turning into tatters.

The shop is run by a middle aged woman, who has a permanent constipated smirk on her face. She is rude to a fault and never smiles. But hers is the only shop on the road and therefore there is always a constant flow of customers to her small shop. I have been going to her shop every day for the past 2 years, and she never shows any signs of recognizing me. Though it does not bother me that she does not remember me, but it sure feels irritating when she asks me "Which brand of cigarette, saaar?" I mean, I go to the shop every evening after office to smoke a fag and yet she does not remember the brand I smoke.

Now coming back to the present, the old man kept standing near the store front while the store lady ignored him and I took a drag from my cigarette. The old man was looking intently at the various tall glass jars which held different candy and sweet meats. Finally after contemplating a little, the old man pointed a bonny finger to a rectangular plastic container. The container had several chocolate bars belonging to the Nestle brand. The shop lady had an incredulous look on her face as if to suggest, "Are you mad old man, pointing fingers at the most expensive chocolates in my shop." The shop lady ignored the old man for a couple of minutes.

But the old man stood there patiently pointing at the rectangular plastic container. Finally the shop lady stood up and shouted in coarse Tamil at the old man. Now I have been living in Chennai for nearly 4 years now, so I can understand a smattering of Tamil. The shop lady was shouting at the old man, that he would not be able to afford the Nestle chocolates even if he sold his skin. Many more such colorful profanities spilled out from her mouth. The old

man stood unflinching there. This seemed to cause the shop lady to lose her temper further. She raised her voice to a decibel ten notches higher and shouted, "Get out of my shop beggar."

The last insult shook the old man out of his reverie. The weather-beaten man unclenched his fist and there lay several coins in his palm. The shop lady immediately cut short the ranting and ravings she had been subjecting the old man till now and stood quietly. The old man showed one finger and asked in a weak voice, "Yevelo" which in Tamil means, "How much"? The shop ladies voice carried a hint of sarcasm as she said the cost of one chocolate was Rupees Thirty.

The shop lady expected the old man to shudder at the mention of price and hence the sarcasm in her tone when she spat out the price. I would be lying if I say I too was not expecting the old man to quietly go away with downcast eyes of a defeated man after hearing the price. However the old man did not betray any emotion and stood his ground. The cataract in his old eyes made it difficult for the old man to differentiate the one rupee from the two rupee coins. Nevertheless after much fumbling and bringing each coin near his eyes more than once, the old man successfully counted out thirty bucks and kept them on top of the rectangular container which held the treasured Nestle chocolates.

The shop lady was taken aback on seeing the small pile of coins and even though she had perfectly good eyes, she took longer to count the coins than had the old man. Perhaps, she was making sure each of the coins had the Sarnath Lions engraved on them properly. After making sure she had her money, she opened the container took out a single thin slab of Nestle Cadbury chocolate.

The old man accepted the precious cargo from the shop lady and ran his fingers over the shiny plastic covering of the chocolate. As I stood there, I could see the old man finally betraying his emotions as a thin smile broke upon his old tired face revealing several missing teeth. The smile lines around the corners of the mouth less prominent than the many wrinkles which crisscrossed the weather-beaten leathery face. The old man saw me looking at him blankly. There was a slight nod of his head towards me as he shuffled across the store front out of the shop.

Just as the old man walked out of the shop dragging his tired feet along, the rain God decided to provide some background effect to this setting by opening the heavenly flood gates. As often happens in India, the electricity gets cut off as soon as it starts raining, plunging the road and the shop into darkness. The road was deserted and the old man could have easily walked back into the shop if he wanted. But the man picked up his rag pickers torn and mended jute gunny sack and slowly walked across the street melting into the darkness.

I was waiting for the unseasonal rain to stop so that I could get along on my way to my home. Just then an Audi car swerved into the street screeching aloud from its tires and lighting up the now darkened street with white light from its incredibly beautiful LED lights. As the car whizzed past, I saw the old rag picker man for the last time. There he was sitting huddled under a tree along with an equally old woman. The thin chocolate slab was broken into two and each of them had a piece in their hands as they laughed without care like two young children.