The Five Rupee Coin
ixedoc / 16 yrs ago /
The heat and dust were unbearable. Jostling, nudging, elbowing, finding knees knocking knees, shoulders shoving shoulders. The then third class compartment of the Indian railways. Move a bit, and you lose some space. Get up and you lose all. So sit tight holding on to your square foot, and grit yourself for some hours of ordeal. But after that it eases of. Stares turn to smiles. Victuals and tiffin-box contents are shared, jokes and personal narrtaives are savoured and ruminated over. A microcosm of the real India. Poor, but happy.
Then of course the omnipresent stump armed beggar, the mendicant, the palmist – and the crooning minstrel, raising chorus to the Lord above, a heavy weather beaten harmonium box strapped across his frail chest. Deft didgits running along the white and black ivories of octave. He is blind, but knows his way round, strutted knees and withdrawn to ease him on
“mudalane vaara somavara, ella devargae namaskaara -” thats his refrain today.
(This is Monday is day one, my salutations to the superior One)
His voice is harse, and his tuning is terrible. A copin or two, is dropped into his aluminium can, even the poorest in india has a nickel to spare for the poorer in India. Charity and dharma are inherent to the psyche of most Asians. I delve into my jeans pocket, and feel a coin: I retrieve it and drop it into his collection receptacle. It clunks a noise alerting the blind singer: his efforts have fetched reward. He continues to play his harmonium with his left hand, while his right hand’s fingers feel for the coin just dropped. The deft didgits pick it up, and in a well rehearsed maneuver flip it side on. The finger tips run along the rim of the coin, to read its vcalue. Curved ridge, ten paise. Small size, serrate edged, twentyfive paise, and so on. His knows somethings different here. His fingertips read it as a five rupee coin. He rubs his digital pulp onto the surfaces, botth sides.
“Anna, idhu aidhu rupayyee, thappagi kottudheera? ” (brother this is a fiver, dropped in error maybe?)
No one parts with five rupess in a third class compartment. Charity is rationed. Synpathy is meted in measures. Not doled out as largesses. I kept quiet. His blank face repeats the question: no response. So then he moves on, adding a second line to his refrain
“erradune vaara mangalavaara”, I hear his voice and music receding and go.
My eyes clsoe and sleep overtakes my tired bones. But my mind is still abuzz and thinking. How much to learn from this Book of Ina. An impoversihed singing blind man, still has the simple gonesty to bring to notice his observation that ‘maybe you have been too charitable, would you want to rethink? Chaity is practiced with caution by the haves, but is accepted with practicality by the have nots. With dignity. For giver and recipient. India never ceases to teach, and maze. It is really, incredible, this land of mine..
