Has it ever happened to you?
Have you ever faced a situation where you were forced by circumstances to do something which was detestable to say the least? And you had to keep on doing the same, inspite of your protestations, inspite of your severe dislike for the task. And you had to do it week after week, month after month, year after year. And yet, strangely enough, as time passed the task became more bearable, and inspite of yourself, you find yourself actually liking the job! Though, you would rather give an arm and a leg, than admit as much!
Well.....it has happened to me.
It happened to me at the tender age of 5 or maybe it was 6. My father decided that I was old enough to accompany him to the local market, for the weekly purchase of vegetables and fish (Bengali family, right?). This ritual would happen every Sunday, which according to him would help me learn an important element of household work, and also build my character!
Now, for kids growing up in the pre-cable TV era, Sunday morning was the most looked forward to time in the entire week, for TV viewing. And my favourite was “The Famous Five” which used to start at 9 a.m. and of course, as fate would have it, I used to miss the serial every time. Boy, did I hate my dad for ‘conspiring’ to make me miss my favourite serial. And no amount of tantrums, pleading, cajoling would move my father, or convince him to my point of view- that it was more important that I watch “The Famous Five” than go to the market!
And for anyone who has not had the misfortune to visit any fish market in Calcutta, to parody the iphone ad.... if you haven’t seen a Calcutta fish market, well....you haven’t seen a fish market!
No one has ever accused our markets to be clean, dry hygienic places and add to that a dash of monsoon, and you have a health hazard! Now, I have nothing against the rain or rainy season, but, call me un-romantic if you will, but getting wet wet wet with 2 heavy bags in two hands and an umbrella wedged between your neck and shoulder in a place where “mud is all around”....well, it’s not my recipe for a perfect start to Sunday morning!
Then there was the daily haggling over the price, for everything ranging from fish to figs!! A typical session would go like this:
Dad: How much for the rohu?
Fish-Seller: Babu, Rs.35 per kilo
Dad: Thats extortion, max I will pay is Rs.30...
Fish-Seller: Babu that does not even cover my cost... Just for you, i will sell at no profit...Rs.33 only!
Dad: Rs.32 and not a paise more
And so on and so forth.....till a mid point was reached and the sale closed....
And of course, the sights and sounds and overbearing smells of a local market may put most people off food for weeks. But, after years of exposure, one kinda gets used to it, and it would not be too much to say, it even grows onto you.
And if you are in a place teeming with people, you get to meet with people (by that I mean the vendors) who, on the face of it, are quite run-of-the-mill, but prod a little, and their character leaves an indelible mark on you.
Take, Mr. A. He sells onions, potatoes, ginger and garlic. He used to work in a mill, which closed down. This forced him to become a vegetable vendor. It was a herculean struggle for him, to make the mental & physical adjustment to adapt in a totally different work environment. But, he persevered. Month after month. Year after year. I cannot imagine the quantum of mental toughness Mr. A would have needed to wake up every morning and go to the market to open the shop.. But, all through this struggle, he remained focussed in giving a proper education to his son, who presently is an ASM in a MNC pharma company. Every year he visits his son in Indore, and I am happy to say, he travels by air nowadays. He still sits in the shop, and my guess is, enjoys it too!
Or the elderly Mr. B. He migrated to Calcutta from Bangladesh in the early seventies, penniless and homeless. He settled down with his family of 6 in one of the slums for migrants. He bought the shop in the late seventies, with whatever savings he could manage. Every day, he would start from his home at 3:30 a.m. to go to the wholesale market and from there to his shop. If I recall correctly, he has 5 sons. While the father probably never had formal schooling in his life, 2 of his sons are engineers with good jobs. His sons built a 3 storied house, in which the entire family stays today. I learnt a thing or 2 about quality consciousness from Mr. B. Many a Sunday, he would not set shop, for the simple reason, that he did not get the best quality fish from the wholesale market. No wonder, he would always run out of all his stock within couple of hours of setting shop...Mr. B sold off his shop couple of years back, as he was too old to carry on....
But, my favourite was Md. Nissar, or Nissar Kaku (uncle), as I would call him. Like thousands other, he had migrated from some small town in Bihar to Calcutta, in search of a living. He did not have his own shop in the market, and was one of the many illegal vendors setting up shop on the footpath outside the market, selling fruits. Of course, he was a favourite with the shoppers, because of his cheerful demeanour and for the fact that he never compromised on quality. And I was his favourite. If it was diwali round the corner, he would actually buy fireworks and crackers for me...If for some reason, I went to the market alone, and was struggling with the load of the bags, he would help carry them across the road, and help me get onto the bus.
He had 2 sons, and not wanting a life similar to his, he put them in a reputed convent school, which was beyond his means. But, the tragedy of it all was, his sons were not interested in studies. They would bunk classes and spend all their time playing. This would make Nissar very upset, and he would express his helplessness at not being able make his sons understand the importance of education. I wish I could say that Nissar’s struggle had a happy result. I wish I could say that Nissar’s economic and social condition improved. I cannot. I don’t remember the year, when the police temporarily intensified their action against illegal roadside vendors. And, just like that, one fine day, Nissar stopped coming to the market. Maybe, he did not pay the local policeman enough bribe to allow him to stay put. Maybe, he found a better location in another market. Maybe, he just decided to call it quits, and went back to his native town. I never found out...
But, then again, is that not true for life in general also. You meet people, for 2 weeks or 2 months or maybe 2 decades, you grow close to them, enjoy their company and feel this would continue forever. But, with time they move their own different way, as destiny deems right. But, they leave their mark, which time cannot rub away completely.....
Now, has that never happened to you?photo source: http://indiatoday.intoday.in/
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