It was a hot, sultry, July afternoon. I was busy wrapping up my work for the day at the Post Office in a small town in Karnataka. It was a Saturday and I was eager to finish my work so that I could reach my hometown on time.
The place where I worked was away from my home town and found time only on weekends to be there. As it happened, I was the first woman Postal Assistant in this small town which had so far seen only a few women working as either a nurse or a school teacher. I was the ‘Star’ of this small town of Sandur, in Bellary District of Karnataka and remained so for the next three months of my stay there.
I mention this, as it came as no surprise to me when, one day an old, unkempt, wrinkled man came up to the counter and just stood there looking at me. In the past few weeks I had gotten so used to this treatment from people who came from the nearby villages to have a look at ‘the lady at the Post Office .’
But , there was something about the old man that unnerved me! He just stood there, looking at me, with a paper packet in his hands, a hint of tears in his eyes, as he watched me dealing with the people who came up to purchase stamps and stationery. I was totally mystified! A bit apprehensive, I called out to the peon, Jayanna and asked him to find out what the old man wanted. But, he just refused to move!
In spite of being busy, I noticed that there was something oddly familiar about him!
Just then, a friend of my father ‘s happened to pass by and noticed what was going on! He came over to me and said,”don’t you recognize Subba?”
Now I immediately knew why I had found this person familiar. And yes! I noticed the deep scar on his forehead. That familiar which immediately made me recollect all the different stories Subba had woven that scar.
I was ecstatic. I leapt out of the chair, rushed out and brought him in. He seemed so calm, so happy and so much in control of his emotions. He held out the paper packet and I opened it to find an apple and a piece of “Mysore Pak”in it. It was one of the best gifts I had ever received.
Subba, our man Friday in Deogiri, the mining camp where my father worked. Subba, the son of a mining labor used to while away his time loafing around with other children of his age. His father,Ramaiah,had brought him over to our house for sundry jobs.
He was extremely intelligent .My grandma taught him the alphabets, a few rhymes, some History, Geography which he was quick to grasp.
Subba was my first childhood companion, my true friend and mentor. He taught me how to fly kites,jump over the fence,climb trees,play football and so on. He taught me my first nursery rhyme (“Twinkle, twinkle,little star”)
I offered him a cup of tea, which he graciously accepted. I had so much to ask , but soon realised that he did not talk much.
After having spent about an hour with him, I told him I was getting late as I had to leave by the last bus at 6:30 PM and requested him to come again. He promised to do so the next weekend, but never did. That was the last I saw of him.
A few days later,I heard,that he was no more.He had passed away a few days after our meeting.
It was as if he had just waited to meet me before he breathed his last!
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