Against the odds, he rose

HK Lall

HE had not read Leo Tolstoy’s story, How Much Land Does a Man Need. After the Partition  when he came to India, he got work to ply a tractor and the remuneration for this task was according to the mile (There were no kilometres then). He would start ploughing in the morning and worked till late evening, not to become rich, but barely to make both ends meet and to provide for his entire family.

Time passed and he became nearly bald. The 1930-born got a job of a postman in Chandigarh. He got married and became the father of two kids. He was seven years older than I. When I came on transfer from Kaithal to Chandigarh in 1966, he used to come to our office to deliver mail as part of his duty. Always in proper uniform, Peshawari chappal and a cap, he would speak chaste Urdu. This language being my favourite, we became friends. 

One fateful day, I lost my wits and in a fit of temper removed his cap, snatched his bag and started shouting ‘postman, postman’. When I came to my senses, I went to return his cap and bag, his eyes were moist. He said, ‘You could slap me but this act of yours is a mockery of my profession which pays me Rs 99 a month.’

Trust me, I fell at his feet and wept bitterly. He lifted me holding my shoulders and gave me a very warm hug. We became close friends. I wanted him to study further. There is still a shortcut to become a graduate, known as ‘via Bathinda’. We found an ‘education incarnate’ who had over half a dozen master’s degrees in various subjects. We  two and another friend brought him around and he reluctantly gave his consent to teach us Urdu for an honours degree (Adib-e-Fazil). We were taught so well that we passed the examination. The postman scored the maximum marks. We then appeared in two more examinations and became graduates. I cannot hold back his name anymore. BR Bakshi was promoted as clerk in the post office. He joined Panjab University as a clerk on a slightly better salary. Then he joined PAU Ludhiana on a still better salary. He would write articles on agriculture and became the editor of the university magazine. Lo and behold, he retired as Deputy Director Information. He topped in MA Urdu in Panjab university. One of his two sons went to Italy. Residents of the area where his son was living would see him on his regular morning and evening walks, and he would say ‘adaab’(hello) to all. They decided to honour him in a get-together and presented him with a memento and a shawl because of his humility and mannerisms. 

He died three years ago. May the great architect of the universe receive his soul in the sanctum sanctorum.