Ramesh
placed the last items on his desk in order as he prepared to call it a day. It
had been a day like any other and most of the people had already left. In one
corner of the office were the usual hanger-ons, who waited beyond the
stipulated hours to not only impress the boss, but also to have the free snacks
that were provided by the office for those who worked late.
Ramesh
detested these people but as was his habit, he held is tongue. He detested many
other things, but kept quiet about them too. People usually did not notice him
for there was nothing really noticeable about him.
He was………..ordinary!
No one really knew what he thought, what he felt, what his
opinions were, or whether he had any. He might have been part of the furniture
for all the attention that he got.
Probably he liked it that way, but no one really knew that
either. His reactions were predictable. He would nod when the boss spoke, clap
when everyone did, bow his head when someone was getting lambasted, smile when
someone broke a piece of good news, always hang around at the fringes of a
gathering, neither being part of it, nor away from it.
No one really ever wondered about his home, his family, his
joys, his sorrows, his likes, his dislikes and he existed in this universe as
one of the many specks of dust that everyone knows is there, but nobody really
gives a second thought to. When there was a meeting, he never volunteered a
response, though he would answer pointed questions. He was not shy, and he was
definitely not an extrovert.
No one knew if he had a close friend. if his son had done
well at school, whether his parents lived with him, whether he loved dogs or
hated them, whether a particular dish was his favourite, whether he loved or
hated his job or whether he was indifferent to it. His work never drew any
praise nor did it draw any criticism.
He was, yet he wasn’t!
He double checked his carry-on bag which contained his lunch
box, a small towel, his cell phone (it was easy to lose cell phones in local
trains!), his wallet (same reason!), and a news paper. As he prepared to leave,
he closed his eyes briefly and muttered a small prayer to himself. This was a
routine from which he never deviated and was one of the rare expressive things
that people would notice about him, if they paid attention, which no one
apparently did.
As he exited the building, he permitted himself the one luxury
that he indulged in – bought a cigarette, lit it and drew the smoke into his
lungs with his eyes closed. The smell would be gone by the time he reached
home.
He stated walking towards the station from where he would
board a local train for the hour long journey to the suburban town which had
been his home since childhood. The trains usually on this route would be
crowded, but the fact that his office timings were a little later than usual
and he, unlike most of his colleagues, left about half an hour late made him
miss the peak crowd which was a blessing!
The leisurely walk along the riverfront to the pier was
enjoyable in the evening and as he walked, he noticed that a bit of disturbance
to his left.
He paused.
It seemed that a couple of young guys were heckling an
elderly person. He quietly watched the drama unfold. The old man was not to be
cowed down. But the young guys were gradually gaining the upper hand and it was
clear that soon the old man would be the recipient of some hefty blows. Ramesh’s
nondescript presence came in handy in such situations as he moved closer. It
was surprising that no one else was interfering and trying to defuse the ugly
situation.
As things got heated up, Ramesh stepped in!
“Enough! You fellows have no shame? Trying to bully a man
who is as old as your father? Care to try it on me?” There was steel in his
voice and the cold stare was unnerving! This was a different Ramesh, as the youngsters
would soon find out, if they did not desist. The young guys were a little taken
aback, because this person did not look physically threatening, but his look
was a different matter. It was a game of nerves and the youngsters were quickly
losing ground.
The people passing by also slowed down and some actually
stopped. Though no one actually intervened, it was clear that any wrong move by
the youngsters would not have very pleasant consequences for them.
Finally, muttering a few futile threats, the young men
backed away and left. There was silence all around which was broken by a round
of sudden applause. Ramesh felt uncomfortable with all this attention and
quickly moved on. He was a hero, but others applauding his brave and selfless
actions was not easy to accept.
As he reached the station, he was feeling satisfied and even
a little aggressive. He would not, could not accept these bullies, these
hooligans trying to cow down simple, vulnerable folks. If he had to be the unlikely
hero, no matter! He would seize back the country from these rascals and the
place would once again be the oasis of peace and prosperity that he had heard
about. If he had to be a leader, he would be. If people needed protection, he
would be with them.
Not only hooligans, he would fight all sorts of injustices.
The poverty, the lack of opportunities for the young men, the domination of the
weaker section by the stronger ones, the exploitation, the bullying, the
distress ……… he would fight them all. And the people would join him, initially
a few, then more and more. And they would have a champion, for they deserved a
champion. If he was destined to be that champion, so be it.
The train had moved on and as he sat in a corner, he took
out the newspaper to scan the news. There was never enough time in the morning
for the newspaper and all attempts to cajole the vendor to deliver it early had
failed. He had reconciled himself, like many of the daily commuters, to living
with a lag of a day with the rest of the world.
As the train moved on, people were constantly getting in and
getting off, without the crowd becoming any the less. It was only in the last
part of the journey that the crowd started thinning a bit though most of the
people got off at the last station.
With about a quarter of an hour to go, he noticed a
commotion at the other end of the compartment. He ignored it but the commotion
was growing bigger by the minute and soon it was clear that things were going
out of hand. The man next to him was muttering something under his breath. He
caught the words …”regular”, “locals”, “hooligans”…. “Police” and soon he got a
fair picture of what was happening.
There was a group of everyday commuters who got off at the
last station and who claimed some sort of ownership over a particular corner of
this carriage. They played cards in that corner and most regulars avoided
sitting there so as not to get into trouble. These players were real tough guys
and insolent to boot! Several times in the past, they had resorted to strong
arm tactics to remove “encroachers” from their corner.
Today, it seemed one gentleman was refusing to move away and
very soon, Ramesh felt, there would be fists flying. But with his newfound
confidence, he would not allow it today.
He got up from his seat and moved forward, till he was just
at the edge of the crowd engaged in the arguments. Voices were raised and that
lone voice of the “encroacher” was clearly not supported by the crowd, who
preferred not to attract trouble for themselves. Ramesh was sure that the time for the
other eight to start with the blows was not far away. He moved forward.
As he neared the scene of the commotion, he saw a frail
looking man standing up to the eight bullies while a bunch of onlookers steadfastly
refused to intervene. Ramesh stepped in front of the lone protestor and firmly
asked the eight to back off. They were a little surprised at this unexpected
intrusion, but were in no mood to comply. Suddenly one of them pushed Ramesh and
he fell down. This made his blood boil. He got up and before anyone could
understand he delivered a solid slap on the cheeks of the person who had pushed
him. As soon as this happened, the others ganged up and blows were raining on
Ramesh.
This somehow galvanized the crowd and they all started
beating up the three bullies. The lone victim and Ramesh too joined in the
melee and soon the eight rascals were subdued. The crowd which had seen this
bullying on many occasions were today transformed by the heroism of a single
man – and an unlikely one at that. Ramesh was the stuff that heroes are not
made of. But he had stepped up and led a micro revolution. There was a tear in
his shirt but that would have to suffice as a battle scar.
As the train reached his station, the police was called and the
hooligans handed over. There was a series of people congratulating Ramesh for
his bravery but all he wanted to do was escape to his home. His biggest worry
now was to find out a way to avoid his wife Runa’s wrath for having had his shirt torn.
As he neared home, he could not drum up a plausible excuse
to explain his torn shirt and the bruises on his face and knuckles. Reluctantly
he decided to tell her the truth. Maybe that was best. She might actually be
proud that her husband was a hero, if she believed him. She was a woman with a
sharp tongue and it was rare that anything that he did made her proud.
As he rang the bell, he could hear her approaching the door.
He steeled himself for the onslaught that he would face when she saw his
appearance. The earlier he could start explaining the shorter the onslaught
would be. And the look of pride when she heard his story would be worth it all!
As the door opened, Runa looked at him, but did not say
anything. She just moved aside to let him pass. He was a little perplexed. No
reaction, no shouting, nothing………
He decided to explain himself anyway. As he narrated his
story, Runa listened with her hands on her hips saying nothing. As he finished
his story he looked for the pride in her eyes but there was only exasperation
there.
Saying nothing, she caught him by his arm and dragged him to
the washbasin which had a mirror on top of it.
He looked at himself, no bruises, no blood.
He looked at his shirt. No tear, a little crumpled but
nothing else.
Runa looked at him gently.
“You don’t need to be a superhero. I have accepted you as
you are. Please get rid of these fantasies, they mean nothing to me.” There
were tears in her eyes.
These words rang out in his head, again and again and again……
He was not the unlikely hero that he wanted others to see
him as.
At the pier he had wanted to intervene, but had actually
hurried away, lest the cry for help reach him before he moved out of range.
In the train, he had steadfastly continued to stare outside
the window while the lone person’s troubles increased. He wanted to intervene,
but was too scared of the hooligans. He just prayed that his station would come
before the violence started.
It was all a game that his imagination played on him.
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