The Monk Who Sold Bhurji

The flat spoon clinked on his ebony coloured pan numerous times finding its way through the slimy egg white and yolk which were trying to save themselves from being overshadowed by the generous amounts of chopped onions, tomatoes and green chili. To any onlooker it was just the sound or rather a noise of metal hitting metal but to him, it was the sounded like a money minting machine. He looked up at me and asked how many pieces of 'pav' I would like with my 'bhurji'. To me, it was just scrambled eggs and toast because my jet lag had forced me to get out of the house at ungodly hours to eat something.

It has been four days now that I'm back from the United States but I have always been one to take time to acclimatize to any place, India was something I naturally expected to take a while. Yes, all my friends do rag me about how I have changed since I moved to the States and how I should not forget my 'Indian roots'. I'm sure every Indian-American must be going through the same dilemma and I was no exception. Peer pressure coupled with jet lag seemed to have taken its toll on me and there I was at 2 am, standing in an unsurprisingly crowded yet shady street of Mumbai. There is no restaurant in the world which could have portrayed the diversity present around that little cart which had been ingeniously converted into a kitchen. Men and women of all shapes and sizes had let hunger be their GPS and allowed themselves a drop/upgrade in eating standards. It was fascinating, really.. A lone drunkard who was reeking of cheap alcohol was trying to bargain with the 'chef' into letting him eat more for less, a Gujrathi family of four were returning home from a late night movie which judging by the wife's face wasn't worth the price of admission, a bunch of college going kids were also making their presence felt with incessant laughter and adolescent appetite while a newly wed couple seemed to be taking a trip down memory lane. I'm guessing this was the place they met each other for the first time. (I'm just shooting in the dark with this one, I had to stop eavesdropping the moment I was faced with stern looks.) And then I found myself, an Indo-American student in Mumbai visiting his grandparents who was trying to prove his "Indian-ness" by braving potential indigestion. Little did I know that my entire perspective of looking at the world would be changed by this dark and skinny, white banyan-clad old fellow come dawn. His cart was a supermarket in itself. He made all egg preparations, maggi, tea / coffee, sold cigarettes, chewing tobacco, mouth fresheners and what not!

I opened the conversation with the intention to make some small talk while I ate my 'bhurji-pav'. It started with how bad the Mumbai weather is and then moved on to various inconsequential topics. A good 10-15 minutes later, as he was closing shop a little homeless boy came around asking to be fed which probably was going to be his only meal of the day. I was surprised at how promptly my new friend, called Manu, prepared an omelette and gave it to the boy who left with a look of satisfaction which I will never forget. Naturally, I commended "Manu" for his generosity. He looked at me, smiled and said, "दादा, मला माहितीये एकटं , बेघर आणि भूकेलं असणं कसं असतं. ते पोर तुम्ही अत्ता बघितलत , काही वर्षांपूर्वी तो मी  होतो ." (I know how it feels to be alone, homeless and hungry. The boy you saw right now, that was me  some years ago.) This guy captivated one single sentence and my curious self could not help but ask how he managed to reach this point in his life. Understanding my innocent curiousity, he sat down beside me, lit his beedi and started talking. (Obviously, he spoke to me in Marathi but to facilitate reading I'll translate)

"Like most of the boys on the street, I never saw my parents and I don't even know whether they are dead or alive. My age is an approximation since there's no record of me being born and I have no way of knowing my birth date or year. Birds of a feather do flock together and I found a few boys like me roaming around the streets of Mumbai.. Although none of us liked each other very much we stuck together to overcome loneliness and minimize the level of risk. We ate what we found, or what any generous person offered us and trudged through every single day. As I got older, I quickly learnt that sympathy food was going to be hard to come across now that I had started growing in stature and that this world ran solely on money. The traffic signal certainly was the easiest place of business but certainly not the most productive. I didn't want to beg but desperate times call for desperate measures and after being shooed away a hundred times, there would be some generous guy who could 'afford' to give us a rupee or two. Observation was my favourite pass time and through that I learnt things which nobody else in our little clan did. I observed the teenagers smoking their cigarettes in a taxi while the driver who would be old enough to pass off as their father, took orders from them. I felt a sense of anger upon seeing such scenarios. Why do they deserve to blow their parents' hard earned money on the most trivial things while I sat here begging to stay alive? What kind of cruel luck is this? What sin had I committed that I had to battle pangs of hunger and thirst every single day while they got everything right on their plate? I quickly lost my faith in luck and God was nothing more than a noun to me. Most of my 'friends' started resorting to getting fast money by stealing and pickpocketing but that wasn't my forte and a few beatings from the police made me realize that. I began searching for a place to work and found myself washing tea cups that an ageing tea vendor needed help with since he didn't want his daughter to be seen working at a place which attracted not the most chivalrous of men. The pay wasn't much but it was honestly earned and enough to fill my stomach at least two times a day. I became a regular at his house and falling in love with his daughter was well, haha.. inevitable."

I could see his saddened face shine like the moon at the mention of his love interest. It was the first positive in his story and it didn't take time for me to understand from the gleam in his eyes that he still loved the girl. He lit his second beedi after offering me one which I politely refused and lit a cigarette of my own. After a cheers of smoke, he continued.

"During my time at the traffic light as well as while helping as a tea vendor I had seen a countless number of people but every single time that I saw her... a tingle ran down my spine, my head went into overdrive and I found myself smiling like an idiot. To me, she was the feeling of a full meal.. the feeling a torn yet warm blanket gave me in winters. I could have been the poorest man in the world but beside her I felt like a king. Forget being the most beautiful girl I had seen, she went a notch above that. She was the most beautiful person I had ever looked at. Out of respect for her father, wooing her was something I delayed until restlessness set in. Well, no matter how much you try and do something for someone else, your own interests matter the most to you eventually. Winning her over took a lot of time, patience, wit and stealth. She resisted but gave in when I finally confessed my love for her. Both of us knew that it wasn't logical to fall for each other given the fact that her father would never approve her daughter getting married to an employee of his who he had picked up from the street but then, isn't that the whole point of love? We tried taking the 'right' path by telling her father about our decision to which he hurled expletives at the both of us leaving the cliched method of eloping to be our only choice. I had nothing to lose but her courage was really commendable since she left everything, her house, her parents, an orthodox future and took a leap into the unknown with a homeless man just because she loved him to no end. It wasn't always easy, we had numerous fights because money was hard to come by and she started wondering whether she had made the wrong decision by trusting love over logic. However, no matter how bitter the fight at the end of every day she would sit by my side, hold my hand and assure me that it was worth it and everything was going to be fine. She was everything to me... I was used to sleeping on footpaths and railway stations but she deserved much better than what I could offer her at that time. We worked together, side by side and saved every penny we could to buy this cart and start off something of our own rather than working in people's homes. Slowly but steadily, things did improve... but that was possible only because I had her by my side. If not, my life would have gone to the dogs or probably even worse, to the rats. She knew and I knew that we were destined to be together and we could face any storm as long as we had each other's hand for assurance and shoulder for support."

I was awestruck. I have friends who have broken up relationships with each other for some absolutely insignificant reasons compared to what this man and his wife had been through. Insecurity, uncertain future, incompatibility and what not. All this guy wanted was to be her first good morning and last goodnight day in and day out. That is all they lived on. It was amazing to listen to and picture it all in my head. It was time for a smoke break and this time, I requested him for a beedi and offered him my cigarette which he refused and took out two beedis. A beedi cheers and I was off on this man's next journey.

"It never really stopped being tough, but having her by my side gave me courage and more importantly willpower to carry on. Life can be pretty cruel at times and it did become so for me... more than it ever had. She was diagnosed with some fancy named cancer. The hourglass had tipped over. Every day was like a countdown. I would have certainly preferred if it would have been a countdown to being a father or our anniversary but alas... it wasn't meant to be, I guess. She passed away just a few months after her diagnosis. And there I was... all alone again. It seems that life indeed is easier for the dead (!) She had gone, far away and left me to bear the burden of her absence. It was still better than seeing her suffer. I had to get over this tragedy soon and be brave, solely because that's what she would expect of me and there was no way that I'd let her down even in death. I rambled on. My cart and the joy of observation kept me going on. Once I got my head around, I naturally restarted simply observing people. As you could see, every single day at my cart is completely different. It is full of variety and movement. More than suffering what taught me more was observation. 'The quieter you are, the more you can hear' it is said. I heard everything around me, I saw everything that was happening in my surroundings. To this day, I do that and it teaches me something new every single day. Like you see, I have come to a conclusion that there are only two things which are expensive in life. The first is convenience and the second, sophistication. Give it a thought... A beedi and a cigarette. Same substance, different level of sophistication. Hiring someone to cook for you rather than do it yourself... convenient. It comes with a cost attached to it."

It seemed like I was sitting in a classroom by that point. There was no university in the world that had taught me any of that. Probably because all of 'education' it comes from a common source. We're all fed the same information. This guy, was feeding himself. Manu was enjoying every single day like it came after being through so much! He was pretty expressionless and seemed like a quiet guy to be honest. 'The quieter you are, the more you can hear', I guess? The monk who sold bhurji. I wanted to know more, the night was still young and this time, he borrowed a cigarette from me and now both of us were smoking cigarettes.

"This is something I see the current generation lacks. They're too loud. Not decibel wise... (well, that too) but personality wise. 'जो दिखता है वो बिकता है ' (What you see, is what you sell) Every little event in today's life is displayed. Everybody wants to be seen... I think differently. After seeing so many people in different walks of life, the happiest seem to be the ones who are silently smiling not the ones laughing out loud(lol?) There's a fine line between happiness and laughter, it could be natural or purposely created. I know what I prefer. I come here every day, I do my job to the best of my capability, complete honesty and most importantly, I sleep satisfied. There are thousands like me in this city of Mumbai who are doing their work in silence, not craving appreciation or promotion but knowing that it will come when it has to. The world is a school, my friend. Wake up and learn... the chase of perfection is just a parallel line. You can always do better. No matter what you have been through in your past, if you take today as a challenge for a better future, nobody in the world can stop you from being happy. The first and the last person who can do that is...well, you. Silent but sure, is the name of the game."

He smirked and glanced at the stars probably going through a quick trip through memory lane or memory grand canyon, in his case. Manu really did seem like a happy soul despite his difficulties. Well, it's difficult for all of us because we think it is... and that's okay! All we have to do is know that such a challenge has come our way owing only to our capability of surpassing it. It was 5 am, it dawned upon me (pun intended) I got up from the dusty steps we were seated on, brushed myself off of the dust and looked at my new friend.

"Goodnight, Sir", he said giving me a friendly informal salute.

"Thank you, Manu Dada", I replied as I offered him a handshake. He obliged.

After a final glancing smile, I started walking back to my grandparents' house thinking of viable excuse. I could hear a matchstick go off in the background. I turned around to see Manu still seated, lighting his beedi, alone this time...