You could almost call him a tramp. But only almost, as I do not think he is as completely useless as most tramps are supposed to be. In fact, over the past few months that I have been seeing him, I have grown to respect him more than I respect most respectable people. I see him almost everyday and it is a very rare day when I find him missing.

You too can see him like me if you happen to pass along the St. Bartholomew’s Church cemetery very close to the main gate of our Government House. But you must be there pretty early in the morning if you have to catch up with him and his good deed. You should be there at the stroke of six when the man who sells tea at the street corner maneuvers his hand - cart into position to start his day, bringing good cheer into the lives of the many auto drivers and daily wage earners who choose to start their day from the spot.

For the past three months I have been seeing him wearing the same clothes every day and as they do not look too unclean or too unwashed I have always wondered how he manages to wash them without having a spare set. He certainly does not seem to be having any spare clothes as I would have seen him wearing them at least once in a while if he had them. I do not know where he stays or what he does for a living and he does not seem to have a penny with him.

There is not much that he can do for a living either as he is a pretty bad spastic and his body goes into a series of weird contortions at the slightest attempt at any movement. But he never fails to start his day with his usual good deed. Rain or shine, out of nowhere, he materialises near the mobile tea stall hobbling on stiff but wobbly and grotesquely bent legs with his arms and hands performing their own involuntary contortions that are characteristic of all spastics. The problem with spastics is that they cannot perform meaningful or purposeful movements without other parts of their bodies going into purposeless spasms.

As the stall owner begins to bring his teapot to boil, our man becomes his uninvited and unpaid assistant and begins to wash all the glass tumblers that he would soon need to serve his customers. As his stiff fingers run over the glasses in difficult, jerky movements that appear painful to us, his face goes through a series of grotesque expressions that seem to reflect the unseen agony that runs through his mind. His job done, as if in wages for it, he now takes two small buns from the tea stall owner which you might naturally expect him to eat.

But without taking one tiny bite he breaks them into tiny bits which he laboriously spreads out on the cemetery wall. Just like himself, out of nowhere, flocks of crows descend noiselessly for a God - sent breakfast. The crows almost eat from his hands and in less than half a minute the feast is over. Whatever scraps fall to the ground on the pavement due to the lack of dexterity in their benefactor’s hands, are gobbled up by the couple of street dogs which never fail to be there at the right time.

With his own belly empty, the man does not think twice before he chooses to feed some of God’s other creatures first. He watches them intensely, perhaps with the satisfaction that his soul seeks and only after the last morsel is picked up by the birds and the beasts he helps himself to a glassful of steaming hot tea that the stall owner keeps ready for him. This is followed by a complimentary cigarette, which unlike others who smoke with relish, he seems to smoke only with great pain, thanks to his disability. After a moment of rest he slowly gets up, washes the now used tumblers before slowly disappearing into oblivion around the bend only to reappear the next morning.

As I go about my daily grind, I stand at an unobtrusive distance and watch this daily drama which can be a free lesson in the art of living for any one who would otherwise only be too willing to pay and hire a spiritual guru or God - man for it. Whether the likes of me watch it or not, I feel certain that God above watches it unfailingly with its reward held in his hand. When most of us have reached a stage in our lives where we lead a ‘dog eat dog’ life without caring one bit about doing something for others, here is a beggar who chooses to go about doing his good turn day in and day out. Who says beggars can’t be choosers?

Dr. K. Javeed Nayeem, MD
e-mail: kjnmysore@gmail.com
Courtesy: star of mysore