Laxmi

There are a lot of faces that we've grown up seeing. We don't even consider them a part of our lives. Or miss them when they suddenly disappear. This is about one such face, that I haven't seen in a long time.

Cut to childhood memories in Calcutta - the place that I was born and brought up in. In those days, dad used to have a flourishing business of cotton saree wholesaling. Since sarees would be packed into bundles to be delivered, every businessperson would have a 'mutiah' or hired labourer, who'd pack the bundles and get them loaded onto a vehicle. Laxmi did this for us.

He was tall, well-built and very dark skinned. The tan on his skin probably came from toiling in the sun. He has dark hair, and kept a trimmed moustache that ended into his beard. I remember him wearing a white vest and a sarong-like local garment all the time.

Apart from work at dad's office, he'd also be there when someone was going out and the luggage had to be dropped till the railway station. That was generally when all of us would take an early morning train during summer vacations, to visit my mom's parents in Delhi. My younger brother, who'd act all grown up then, would rush to call him (he stayed at a stone's throw from our place). And then he'd come in the next five mins, explaining how he'd been cooking his meal then. I often wondered what did his place look like, and whether he even had a roof upon his head. I used to picture him sitting in the open with a primitive stove, with a vessel in which bitter gourd simmered; how he'd rush when my brother called upon him unexpectedly, and how his food would be charcoal black by the time he returned (he'd have forgotten to turn the stove off in haste!)

And then there were the family marriages and other occasions where Laxmi would be the first one to get up and the last one to rest. He would make sure none of the other guys who were called for help were lazying about. On one occasion I heard him telling my grandpa that he should stop hiring the regular cook for such occasions - the guy often soured the milk with lemon juice so that he didn't have to make tea for guests. At the end of all celebrations, grandpa would generally give him some extra money and ask him if he wanted any more. He never said yes.

My younger brother once told me that he was graduate, with an arts degree. And that he was forced to work as a petty labourer as there were no jobs. And of course, time slipped away...

It's been ages since I've seen him or heard about him. I'm not sure if I miss him.