“ Leelabai, aaj fal
nako” I screamed, when I saw her at the gate. It was a hot summer afternoon
and I was sitting by the window. Hearing the rejection, she pitched for some fresh and sweet
fruits she had...this was usual…then with a signature good bye of “me udya yein parat” (“I will come again
tomorrow”), she left. Leelabai, a door-to-door fruit seller in our locality.An
aged woman, must be in her sixties, calm face, not displaying much emotions, a stoop
in a posture but a strong and hardworking built.
I remember her coming to our house since …well, since my
childhood probably. Be it a summer afternoon, a rainy day or a cold
winter, she used to come, everyday, even on Sundays. She was a part of our
daily routine. Her timing was also almost fixed. 1 pm in the afternoon. I don’t
really remember her talking much, nothing other than about fruits.
Most of us didn’t know anything about Leelabai apart from her
name. Once I asked Mom, out of curiosity and what I found out was very
surprising and yet humbling in many ways. Leelabai was a widow, whose widowed daughter was working as a nurse in a nearby hospital. Her grandson was doing
MBBS at JJ Hospital, Mumbai. Leelabai was selling fruits to fund her grandson’s
fees in whatever way she could.
It was a fine evening of April 2009. Mom gave me mithai, which I was almost about to keep
down with frowning face. Then I was told that Leelabai had given that mithai. Her grandson got a job at a hospital
in Mumbai. Now she wouldn't have to sell fruits anymore, she was moving to
Mumbai to stay with him. She was relieved from all her troubles and
miseries. I couldn't even imagine the happiness of that proud grandmother. An evanescent thought appeared in mind, that I should have bid her a proper farewell.
Diwali of 2009 was just like usual for everyone, a festival
of light and hope. One afternoon, just when we were about to start our lunch,
we heard a usual call, “Bai, kahi deu ka?”
(“Madam, do you want anything?”). Leelabai?!... Excited to know all about her
stay in Mumbai, about her grandson’s job, we went to open the door. There she was.
Looking frail, tired and exhausted than ever, her eyes had gone deep, standing testimony
to sleepless nights and stoop in her posture was more visible now. It seemed as
if she had aged by ten years suddenly. With a lot of trouble she put down the
heavy basket of fruits from top of her head. Shock and concern replaced all the excitement on our faces. “Kay deu?”
(What do you want?”). She asked, oblivious to our question marks.Struggling to find correct words Mom asked her, “ When did you come from
Mumbai? How long are you here?”…She looked up. Phrase which I had read only in
books, “Seeing pain in someone’s eyes”, I experienced it that day. Leelabai sat
down, railing back on the wall.
“ I was waiting at Dadar station for Raghu, my natu (grandson). My daughter gave me
this small telephone, without wire, to contact Raghu. He called me on that
phone and told that he and his friend were reaching station in 15 minutes. He
asked me to wait a little more. I was waiting…waiting for hours. He didn’t come.
No call. Then a boy came searching for me. He looked of my Raghu’s age. He was
Raghu’s friend. He took me to Raghu’s hospital. I was tired of waiting and
scared of crowed. But, I was about to meet my grandson, so I didn’t care. But I also
wanted to scold Raghu, for keeping me waiting for so long. In the hospital room,
his friends, some big doctors, they were all standing there and there he was,
my Raghu, lying dead on a stretcher. His taxi met with an accident while he was
on his way to pick me up. He is gone. Everything is gone. I am back to Nagpur
now, to stay here until God calls me to stay with him.” She closed her eyes and
wiped a rolling tear with a corner of the padar
of her saree.
I don’t know what happened next. I don’t know any details as
to how did she manage everything alone. Is she going to continue selling fruits? Where is she going to stay? I know nothing, because I ran inside. I just didn’t
have the heart to wait there. After some 20 minutes, I heard her say “Udya yein parat”.
How much we convince ourselves that eventually it all ends well, that HE has pre written our destinies and HE gives everyone their share of
happiness. Some times it’s hard to comprehend this so called destiny and wicked
tricks it plays.
I never met Leelabai after that. For quite a few days, she
continued to come to our house though, selling fruits like usual. After couple
of months, routine was broken. She stopped coming to our locality. I could
never find out what happened to Leelabai? Is she still selling fruits? Is she staying with her
daughter? How is she managing at
such an old age?
Life moved on, everybody got busy with their own lives. For most
of us, a fruit seller Leelabai is lost in the time and for some of us she still
remains in the fragments of our memory. But there is one thing, from that day, I still
very much vividly remember. Even after being hit by such a devastating tragedy,
she got back on her feet, embraced life, challenged destiny and said, “ I will
come back again tomorrow”.
