Remains of the Day

Friday, October 29th

Today at breakfast I bit into a piece of fruit and felt something crumble inside my mouth. Too late I realized it was my tooth. The filing had given way and a piece of the tooth fell away with it. This merely adds to my woes, as I must now chew only on one side and I have not the where with all to see a dentist.  Admittedly, I have been feeling a bit sorry for myself, and have avoided making entries in my blog.  So today I decided to spend the day in a cafe with my laptop, to dedicate myself to the task.

I casually saunter to Laxman Julha, with a nod of acknowledgement to the grocery store owner, the barber, the waiter at the cafe, and the many shop keepers whom I pass daily, in the narrow corridor leading to my destination. I have become a familiar part of the landscape, and it is I who now look upon the growing numbers of tourists as new comers to my home town.  My footsteps carry me past Ram's store and I stop to greet him.  The store is now open for business, and he is in the process of unpacking the last few items to be displayed.  He welcomes me with a warm smile,  and indicates apologetically that he must continue to work as we talk.

I watch him unwrap each item from the protective newspaper and using a paint brush, he removes the residue of dust that clings to the surface.    His movements are slow and measured. So much so, that even when a fly gently lands on his cheek, it is I who reflexively raise my hand to brush it away from my own cheek. He on the other hand, maintains equanimity, allowing it to simply fly away, which it does almost immediately. It is this quality of centerdness that attracts me to him.  Our conversation turns the nature of the search for God.  His answer to this is that in the same way he is committed to his business, he must commit himself to God. In the same way that he loves and desires his woman, why not an equal love for God.  And in the same way that a man must sate his hunger for food, why not this same hunger for God. Measure for measure, he seeks god in all that he does.    

I  leave him to complete the task at hand, as I have my own work to do. I head over the bridge to the Ganga view Restaurant. Prema and I had discovered it yesterday in our travels, and I had enjoyed both the food and the quiet. Unlike the German Bakery, which I have nicknamed "tourist central" it is removed from the hub, and offers me a peaceful retreat.  I find an empty table over looking the river and quickly establish myself there. I order lemon ginger honey tea, a new favorite, and unwind with a book, as the muses have not yet stirred.

Only a few pages in, I notice three people take the table opposite me. I nod a greeting and return my attention to the book. However, they are determined to speak to me, and within, minutes they have opened the conversation with questions about where I am from.  They are from North Delhi, vacationing in Rishikesh for the weekend. I can tell that they are professionals and from the affluent set of Delhi.  We  share a pleasant exchange, and as they stop to shake hands with me before they depart.    I return my attention to the book, hoping to avoid any further intrusions. However, this was not to be the case.

In fact, not ten minutes later, a man approached me and asked if I were reading Hazrat Inayat Khan, his favorite author.  I reply in the affirmative, and display the cover of "The Way of Illumination".  This was enough of an overture, for him to pull up a chair and introduce himself.  His name is Sachin and he is a singer and a musician.  I immediately ask if he is open to teaching me the basics as I have actually been in search of a vocal instructor.  He will only be in Rishikesh for nine days, before returning home, but is quite happy to set aside time for me.  We arrange to meet up tomorrow afternoon.

Naturally, the conversation does not end here.  We exchange stories about our lives, loves, books and music. Its a round the world tour. and two hours later, he finally makes his departure to keep a prior engagement.  He is a great talker and proves to be even more long winded than me.  I love his sense of humor sense and his ability to see things as they are.  Of average height, he has shoulder length curly black hair, and eyes that shine with laughter.  His face is framed with an overnight stubble that gives him an appropriately rugged look. Just what you would expect from a musician.  He gives me his cell number and email address, and there is no questioning the sincerity of his offer.

The morning has all but disappeared, and I have yet to compose a single sentence. But I am enthralled with the book, and cannot put it down. It gives me the perfect excuse to delay getting out the laptop.  Not even ten minutes and there is yet another intrusion into my solace.  A family arrives and is seated at a near by table. But the father is not happy and gestures at my table to the waiter. Getting no response, he marches over to me and begins to gesticulate with his hands speaking in Hindi.  What I did understand were the words, Ganga and river. With a final wave of his hand he dismissed me. Without a fuss, I  move the the table that they have just vacated and smile at the waiter, who looks on apologetically.  I had been enjoying the view for more then two hours, and it seemed selfish no to comply with his wish.  I gather he is a man accustomed to having people obey his command and  fortunately, I wasn't going to prove the exception. 

The family of three children, grandparents the man and his wife, took their seats. The wife sat a little apart from the table and a chair was placed next to her for her husband. He ignores the chair, orchestrating the seating of everyone else and handling the ordering of the food. He then stands over the table, like a Sargent Major, waiting for the for the meal to be served.  Eventually the food arrives.  Five plates of rice and a few savory dishes. He supervises the distribution of the food, and watches over children and grandparents, making sure that everyone has their fill. 

Throughout all of this, his wife remained seated on the sideline, with her eyes downcast.  The first to complete the meal is the grandfather. Of diminutive stature, he quietly walks over to the wife, inclines his head towards her in acknowledgement and then takes a seat beside her.  So much is held in that quiet, almost imperceptible gesture, that conveys both gratitude and love. The children and the grandmother have completed their meal, and file away from the table to make room for the parents.   The woman silently rises to finally take her seat and the husband follows suit. The two begin to eat the remains of the meal.  No words pass between them. Their silence is pregnant with the weight of honor and duty.

In this simple act, I have been witness to the indelible bond binding these three generations together.  It The strength of the family ties, that is so much a part of the culture and tradition here. And though I suspect that this man rules over his family with an iron fist, there is in this act of self sacrifice, a selfless love that is undeniable. It is the sacrifice that only a parent can know. One that is coded in the fibers of their being and ignited at the moment of parenthood.

The family departed to continue their sight seeing tour, and I moved to another table on the balcony, to bask in the heat of the afternoon sun. It is lunch time and I order a plate of vegetable noodles.   The meal when it arrives is hot delicious. I order a side of fresh chilies and attack into the meal with gusto.  Finally, my thoughts turn to the task at hand.  I pull out the laptop to begin at last, to hammer away at the keys.  My plan to spend the day in seclusion had been rudely shattered, but I was glad of this, and look forward to meeting up with Sachin tomorrow for my first vocal lesson.