Going back home…
Posted by Haris Gulzar on August 1, 2009
He went to a corner of that big workshop garage, grabbed his pants and his shirts from the hanger, changed his clothes and got out of his all dirty and stained shalwar qamees, approached the front deck where other mechanics were sitting, took out his clean shining black slippers along with a green shopping bag from beneath the deck, took out the small piece of soap and a comb from that shopping bag and went straight to the wash basin adjacent to the deck. The smile on his face was so noticeable that one of the other mechanics asked him, “tera abba aagya kya?” (Is your father here already?).
He thoroughly washed his hands and face and looked at the mirror from all possible angles to see if his face is all clean yet. He wet his palms and strolled them in his hair a couple of times, grabbed his comb and struggled through getting his hair back in shape. He looked so neat and tidy as if he was now ready to go for work, but things were actually exactly the opposite in this case. He was going back home. He smilingly went to each and every person present there and shook hands with them. One of the mechanics tauntingly asked him to clean the mess on the deck before he left but he, without saying a word, just kept his hand forward offering the other person to shake hands with him.
His smiles and happiness was truly justified and needed no explanations. Earlier that day, I saw a “senior” mechanic ask him to loosen a bolt, which even after trying his best, he couldn’t. His ear was given a 360 degree rotation along with a slap on the back of his neck for not having enough power to loosen up a bolt. He was made fun of. Other senior mechanics laughed at this so bold and brave action of slapping this kid, who was hardly 15 years. Seniority at this workshop probably came from having the authority to shout at and use free hands on junior mechanics, and make fun of them.
He was also asked to hold a lamp and point it exactly where the “senior” mechanics were working, and if his hands just dropped slightly, he was dealt with all the authority that those “seniors” had. And even after all the torture he was made to go through (though I seriously think he was immune enough to feel it torturous), he kept on smiling and laughing with others. Not only did he perform his job related to the workshop, but he also brought tea a couple of times for his “seniors”. In fact, this was probably also part of his job. No doubt he was happy at the end of such a long day…
وہ حیراں ہیں ہمارے ضبط پہ تو کہ دو قتیل ان سے
جو دامن پہ نہیں گرتا وہ آنسو دل پہ گرتا ہے ۔ ۔ ۔
This entry was posted on August 1, 2009 at 12:30 am and is filed under English. Tagged: Life, Optimism/Pessimism, Qismat, Social issues. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.