The Little Servant

LIFE…. So unpredictable, meaningless and unfair!

Is it? Or is it the mind that thinks this, the soul that feeds on such thoughts or the body that functions with such negativity? Huh! So many questions that are so clear yet create thousands of uncertainties.

We often read or hear stories about renowned people, read about their personalities and admire their beauty, and idealizing them at a certain point of time in our lives. But the question is why do we only obsess over the known and tend to ignore the hardworking ‘hands’ that remain unheard while being heard by the world. It is funny how we always stay oblivious to the existence of such beings that bring about sound changes and impacts in our lives by doing something which we often belittle.

Confused??????

Today, you’ll be reading a story, a tale about one of these working hands that to date remain invisible to the majority of us. Now you must be thinking…. I’ll put a name and introduce a person but no, this one goes out unnamed, it is an account (a small one though) detailed by one such ‘helpful hand’ in his own words.

“As I glance at my hands, falling into a deep gaze, I take a trip down the memory lane…. these hands have been my life. They have aged, wrinkled, roughened and worn out… they tell a tale of how I have lived my life, a story that would take hours to be heard but only a glimpse is enough to the tell if seen through my eyes. My hands weren’t really the way they are now… they were once soft and tender when touched. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that my eyes have seen the way of the world and my hands have worked through them.”

I listened to him as he started off with the perfect introduction…. the powerful start that will capture the reader’s heart forcing the mind to continue reading. But I couldn’t stop myself from wondering why do we enjoy reading stories that are full of misery or better yet why do we find such tales to be interesting if we don’t learn anything from them?
I push away the thoughts… focusing all my attention to him as he paints his life in colorful words that appear like a beautiful work of art, made out of the perfect blend of misery, sorrow and loneliness.

"It was about 35 years ago, when I first started using these tender hands to earn, when it was time for me to hold a pencil, my hands held a cloth and a brush. I was only a child, in my early playful years when destiny revealed its true colors, devouring away my innocence and adolescence. Of course, it was what it was… after all that is what life was… a gamble of good and bad, right or wrong, pure and impure, white or black. There wasn’t really an option of opting any nuances… you know shades of grey. So I did what had to be done, I picked whatever my hands could do as long as I got work."

"It was my first job with a wealthy and well-respected family in Islamabad that had hired me to wash their cars along with other little errands a 10 year old could manage. My father, who was an all rounder in our village, used to help out with any sort of work in the village, weddings, funerals, dinners, parties whatever it was… he played the role of a person who could fit into any profession when needed. I remember how my father used to be a messenger at one time and later in the day he’d be washing dishes or cooking if needed. All I know is I always saw his hands working, functioning to their full capacity, so obviously since the very start I had seen that this was how these two ‘hands’ (attached to our body) should be used. Little or big… work was work, of course if it came with respect."

"So when I reached Islamabad, to please the new family I’d serve, I was totally aloof of any social or professional norms/ rules that existed. Thus I did what I was told, irrespective of what I could manage to do or what I thought was enough to do. I was hired at the age of 10 to wash 10 cars, which I did, every morning at 6am. I remember how the cold water numbed these hands, literally giving the feeling of freezing every drop of blood running through my veins. I used to figure out ways of finishing all the work, managing all the cars before anyone set out for their daily office/ school routines. So my hands worked tirelessly, washing and scrubbing away the dreams of my youthful years in the bubbles that flew around here and there. I often wondered if my fate would shine upon me like I used to work on the cars to shine. I normally spent my mornings cleaning the cars away, one by one and the rest of the time I stood by the gate, for it was my duty/ responsibility to open the gate if anyone came or left. Thus the days passed as quickly as they ever could…. time was flying as long as it was daylight."

"However, the nights were not so easy after working tirelessly the whole day. Since I was so young and away from my own family, I used to get scared, completely terrified with the thought of sleeping all alone in the quarters. So I often slept in the garage, on the ground under the open sky with nothing but the clothes covering and shielding me from the windy and chilly mornings."

"It took me some time to settle in. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. I watched the other children (my little masters) around me growing up just like me as they somewhat shared a destiny parallel to mine, just with an obvious contrast. They were served and I served!"

But I must say they were always good to me, for which I was ever grateful to them. As time passed and I was growing up, I missed my family even more, especially when I saw the family sitting together in the TV lounge watching late night movie shows. I used to love that particular time because I used to watch TV with them, haha obviously.. well not with them, but I had a little curtain view from where I peaked in, standing all the way to watch Indian film actor Govinnda. It is funny, if you think that way, I never did mind if the nights were cold or hot, I just stood outside the window from where the curtain had an opening to pass as much time as I could just to avoid being alone or escape the emptiness I felt without my family.”

I fell into a deep imagination as I tried to picture the pieces of his story together. But before I could sum it all up in my head he stopped. He fell quiet, into deep thoughts and started working again. I felt really bad, thinking I had probably filled his mind with all the thoughts he had spent years forgetting.

But not quite, with a brittle smile on his face… instead he asked me if he had made me sad with his story. I became speechless…. Just staring blankly at him… I gathered the courage to ask him to continue his story.

He just smiled and said “after this, I went place to place, from work to work, working and working no matter what. I served at many places where I met many people from which I learnt the ways of life and the world. Some were good, some well not so good but I know one thing for sure, every day is a tale, a reflection of how we are and how life is. This one tiny piece from the very beginning of my story is enough for now…. let us leave it the way it is for some tales are better seen than heard.”