I don’t remember the first time, when my mother put all her trust and my tiny hand into his big palm. But it was then, at that moment, when we formed a bond for the next thirteen years, for life.
I remember distinctly, however, the times, when he used to so effortlessly, pick me up like his own child, and put me on the back seat of the auto-rickshaw. The way he used to drive us to school, so early into the morning, all orange, pale and foggy. And when the little bumps in the road, made us fly off our seats and hit our heads’ against the iron rods, the way we yelled out at him – Kaka!!! And he perched, to one side of the driver’s seat, jostling for space with our bags and tiffin boxes and water bottles filled with water to the brim, spilling water everywhere; responded to our shouts and screams with a just a smile, never saying sorry, never going any slower.
And then when we reached school, he used to put our school bags onto our backs, adjust our nametags, and tell us to be good.
At the end of the day, when the school bell rang, I used to run like crazy, out of the school gates, to always find him there, waiting under the scraggly cherry tree. And then dumping my bags, into the rickshaw, I used to wait patiently for everyone else to come, the elder girls always coming in the last. And that was the time when kaka asked me about my day in school, while the only one thing I was concerned about, was getting to sit in the corner seat till the time all the girls came back.
When the monsoons came, kaka bundled up the auto in a sea of bright yellow tarpaulin. I am sure from the outside the auto appeared like a big yellow amoebic blob, all its insides fighting, pushing, poking against it skin, trying to find the tiniest of holes, to let the rains and its heavenly smell filter in. And when we reached school, white canvas shoes filthy brown, to find a board declaring a holiday, we troubled and coaxed kaka, to drive us around a little more in the rains, before he dropped us off home.
After every exam, he was the first one with whom we celebrated the beginning of vacations. He used to drive us all the way to Sarasbaug, to treat us to orange cola candies. And that cheap little, watery candy brought us so much joy. Little pleasures in life.
And as I was growing up, my place in the rickshaw also changed, from the back seat, to when my legs no longer allowed that, onto someone’s lap to finally my day of glory, in the corner seat. But one thing that remained unchanged was kaka and his loving care and patience. Teachers are always given credit for being parents at school, but I would want to say here that, Kaka has been more than a parent, tolerating our tantrums asking him for chillar to eat paapdi chaat, accommodating our running late almost every morning andbringing us home early from school when hurt or sick. Kaka has stood by us through exam fears, all the tension, nervousness, and fights at school, evening sports practices after school and the works.
I know he is yet doing the same thing, ferrying kids to school and bringing home young adults. And through tiny blog of mine, I hope to express my love and respect for this man, this silent observer who has been an inseparable part of my childhood.
