3rd
January 2013 – 20:00 Hrs
Too
sweet. That's what Thapa thought as he chewed the sickeningly sweet
pan...Oh what a weakness he had for them. He munched thoughtfully, as
the sweetness from the gulkand and the sharpness of the supari burst
forth on his old weathered tongue.
His wrinkled, sharp eyes
surveying the carding machine which had undergone maintenance earlier
in the day. He touched the smooth cold surface of the machines and
sighed deeply.
57
years...yes, he had spent 57 years in this mill...right from the time
he was a mere boy of 14; His uncle who was bade saab's driver, had
gotten him a job at the mill ..those days any job was a
blessing....the 1950's was a difficult time for a country who had
just won its independence, and with the new government trying to get
a semblance amongst the chaos...a secure job was indeed a Godsend.
He
walked towards the large room at the far end of the vast mill, his
walking stick clicking against the stone flooring...he switched on
the overhead light and opened the door to step into the huge room
full of freshly delivered cotton.
He left his stick by the door and
kneeled down on his arthritic knees and picked up a piece of raw
cotton from the floor...his fingers brushing against the soft
texture.
He
closed his eyes as he remembered his first day of work..bade saab's
son had gotten married just a week before and the small mill, which
could only churn out a few yards of cloth a week was decorated with
huge strings of marigold and a beautiful rangoli at its modest
doorstep to welcome his wife...their Madamji.
He smiled as he
remembered the delicate girl of 16 walk in with their chote
saab...she had her head covered in a traditional benarasi saree, her
face, so serene with a look of wonder in her grey-green eyes.
She
had smiled at all the people assembled in the small fore-room, where
the peon and his wife were serving samosa, mithai and sherbet to
everyone...the entire place was abuzz with talk of their new
mistress...who with her infectious laughter and curious questions had
won the hearts of everyone present...himself included.
She
had been the inspiration for her husband to turn their business
around...it was all her hard-work and determination that the small
simple cotton mill was now a global conglomerate manufacturing and
selling cloth of every medium, all over the world.... But for him,
despite all that...she was still that enigmatic girl of 16.
Even
now, whenever she visited the mills, she made sure to visit him and
take his opinions on various going-on's in the factory. She used to
always tell him that he was one of the 'Legacies' of this company.
He
chuckled as he walked out of the raw material room and locked the
door behind him but a sudden coldness passed over him, making him
shudder. He turned around to find his grand-daughter coming towards
him.
“Arre
daadu....what are you still doing here?...I was looking for you..”
she said sternly as he smiled warmly at her...he patted her head and
let her support him, as they walked out “I was just coming
bitiya...but i had to check the raw material before closing in...the
security will close up as always” he told her as she shook her
head.
“You
also na daadu, sometimes i feel this mill is more important to you
than you own family! There are people who have already done that
work...I don't know why you insist on doing this every night!” she
sighed as he looked on fondly.
As they reached the exit gate, he felt
a sharp pain in his left arm “Bitiya...i'm feeling a little
tired...can you get me some water? I'll just sit by that chair” he
said pointing towards the exit door. She looked at him and asked in a
concerned voice “Are you ok daadu? You are sweating...” she said
getting worried.
“No..no,
I'm fine...i think its just acidity...I should not have eaten that
pan” he said as she tutted “Daadu...you know na that supari is
bad for you?...Plus where did you get the pan from?” she asked him
as he took a deep breath and sat on the chair.
He held his stick in
one hand while the other rested on his knee “Suresh got it for
me..you can ask him if you like...” he said in a strained voice as
she muttered under her breath....'silly
boy...need to tell him not to feed you this crap...'
she said as she quickly walked towards the other building to get some
water.
Thapa
tried to take deep breaths, but felt it difficult to do so....he felt
the pain in his arm spread rapidly to his shoulders and grip his
chest in a vice...his walking stick fell from hands as he clutched at
the left side of his chest.
He could feel his entire body going into
a kind of spasmodic state as the sweat trickled down his forehead,
soaking his woolen cap and cotton kurta...he tried to call out his
grand-daughters name as his eyes rolled back....his body slumping off
the chair and onto the cold damp ground.
The last thing his eyes saw
before they closed, were the huge letterings over the main Mill
building 'GUPTA MILLS, ESTD 1936'
Yes,
Raj Chand Thapa had literally given his life to the mills.
For
anyone else, it was a simple death owing to his old age and heart
condition; they would say that his weakened heart had finally given
out...but for Raj Chand Thapa, it would never be simple.
For a man,
who wanted to live another 20 years to see his beloved mills flourish
under new blood...this death would never be simple...to call it
simple would be a mockery...to call it simple would be an insult to
the sweet poison, now lodged in his blood stream....
Some Definitions:
Pan : Sweet After-mint made of beetle
leaf and Tobacco
Supari: Tobacco
Gulkand : A Jam made of Rose petals
