Over the years he got married; had kids and bought a house near ours. He was Man Friday of my grand parents. He was a devoted family man, but every evening he used to visit our home. Now I understand that it was his way of showing respect and gratitude towards my grand parents. He also had a good relationship with my parents. As a child I was very fond of him. A bulky man, who had a good sense of humour and one who does not know to say "NO". He was part of our family is all respect. We all loved him.
And that was when I was small and was in school. Then I stayed and commuted from my home. Once I started going to college, I was staying in hostel.I used to come home in weekends and so lost regular contacts with persons like Gobindo-da. And then my professional commitments and Bangalore as work location ensured that I communicate with these people even less.
The day I am talking is one rainy evening when I was spending my vacation in home - relaxed and away from the office deadlines and emails. My grandfather had died and grandmother was bed-ridden. The mango tree that once stood beside our main gate had its branches stretched out beyond our boundary wall and leaned on the roadside. That was a temporary shelter for some passers-by or cyclists who were caught off-guard during occasional evening showers.I was having a chat with parents and brother on the balcony of our first floor. It was overcast. A cold breeze was blowing, which indicated that there was rain in areas near-by. In our place, it just started drizzling. It was not that dark then. But, the street lights have just been switched on. There were all indications that it was only a matter of time for darkness to engulf us.
Suddenly, I realised that Gobindo-da was standing outside our house without any umbrella and under the shady mango leaves.It seemed, he was thinking whether he should wait there for the rain to stop and then proceed towards his home or should he return home,lest the rain starts pouring heavily. The fact was, for all practical purpose, he was considered very much part of our family for the last sixty years. I don't know what was going inside his mind, but sadly,that day, in his mid-sixties, he hesitates to even enter the house! My heart sank. I went out to get him inside. He came to the balcony and we started chatting. I don't remember what the topic was, but what I remember is that after about 15-20 mins I felt quite out of place with the conversation. I excused myself. It was not any uncomfortable topic, but just that I was unable to relate to it. After a few minutes, the rain stopped and he slowly and stealthily left for home.
Sometimes I think of the way I behaved with him my whole life vis-a-vis on that one particular rainy day. There were many rainy days earlier when I played carrom with him and heard stories from him with wrapped attention. But that day something went wrong, something didn't click.
I sometimes feel guilty of asking him to come inside our house and then ,perhaps unknowingly, not giving him the due respect. But there is little I could about it now.
My last memory about Gobindo-da remains that day. After that I did not meet him or have any conversation with him. When I went home I sometimes saw him sitting idle on his balcony. He used to inquire about us from my mother. A couple of years later his wife died of a heart attack. And then one day I heard he died.
Surely he is one person who brought is a lot of smile and laughter during my childhood days. He was known for making up interesting stories, but no one complained as we lapped every bit of them. I still have fond memories about him carrying that brown colour leather bag, playing carrom with us, giving us a ride on his cycle and making strange sounds with his nose. He was a happy-go-lucky person in every respect. He had his own share of miseries, but he made sure they are very well camouflaged beneath his fun and banter.
I am yet to find another person like him.
Perhaps, "they dont make them like that anymore"!
