Bacchu Babu was an unremarkable Bengali Babu to look at. Not one who would warrant a second glance.
Short-Medium height, medium built, mostly silver white hair with streaks of black, fair, uneven and missing teeth with clear evidence of an addiction to “Paan”, really thick glasses in a common brown frame, always dressed in a crisp cotton half shirt and white cotton trousers with strapped Bata sandals on his feet. And yes, you could not miss the briefcase that he always carried wherever he went.
He was of an indeterminate age - he could be forty five or he could be seventy, it was impossible to tell!
If one were to see him in a crowd or in the street, one would never remember him a second later. There were thousands of Bengali Babus in Calcutta, as it was known then, who could fit the same description. This was before the average middle aged Indian moved on to Jeans and Tee Shirts. Most middle aged Indian males wore the standard Terry Cotton trousers and check shirts, but in Calcutta a handful of them never lost their loyalty for the white Cotton trousers and white Half Shirts - or Bush Shirts, as they called them.
The one thing that made Bacchu Babu stand out was his laugh. It was not a gentle, polite laugh of the average person. It would start from the edges of his mouth, spread towards his cheeks, on to the corners of his eyes, ultimately covering his whole face.
The sparkle in those eyes!!!! That was something you never forgot. The smile would expose his stained uneven teeth and he would be struggling with a white cotton handkerchief to prevent the paan juice dripping from the corners of his mouth, usually successfully, I may add, - but then, he did not care much for appearances.
The genuine happiness and mirth in the laughter was so infectious that it was impossible to not join in. The laugh made him appear beautiful and attractive, and I use these two words because I lack alternatives to really describe what it was and these come the closest. Even his smile was so nice, welcoming and devoid of any guile - it reflected the absence of any ill feeling and also his ingenuous nature.
When I first met him, I paid no attention to him. In my office room, which I shared with four of my colleagues, I was going about my business and he had come to meet one of my colleagues. I paid no attention, but a bit later he walked over to say hello since he noticed an unknown person. He was that sort of a person. Most people would come to an office for whatever work they had and then walk out oblivious to everyone else.
He came and looked askance at the person he had come to meet and it was clear that he wanted an introduction since that would make it easier to break the ice. So we were introduced but at the time I was polite but did not make anything out of it. One thing I noticed, though, was that most people seemed to know him well and he was very friendly with everyone- be it my boss or the guy who came to serve tea.
Another thing I noticed was that he gave a couple of pens or ball-pens to everyone and they accepted it as a matter of fact. This was a bit strange as accepting a gift from an outsider was generally frowned upon in my organization. He probably understood my hesitation and proceeded to explain to me gently that he did not expect any favours from anyone in exchange for this gift. he said that it just made him happy - though I was a little skeptical about his explanation.
Sensing my skepticism, for the first time he opened and showed me his briefcase. It was an amazing sight - there must have been at least 200 odd pens, about 20 Cadbury’s chocolates and about 30 odd “paans” in it but no papers or documents! A slim bunch of papers was in a plastic folder that he carried separately. Half the Paans were for him to get through the day and the rest for people who shared his love for Paans. All the pens were for distribution during the day as were the chocolates - though the chocolates would not usually be all distributed in one day. He probably spent about Rs 2500 on this on a daily basis - not a meagre sum by any standard in those days.
Over a period of time I understood that he was speaking the truth about all this. He would give away pens to all people he met during the day - that included the MDs of organizations that he visited, the officers, the clerks, the peons, the guards and even the policemen who were doing their traffic duty - all without expectation of anything in return.
I also came to know that many people called him Pen Babu and most did not know his formal name. He once told me his formal name, but since I had never had any occasion to use it, it must be safely filed in some corner of my mind because for the love of God I am unable to recall it.
He, I later discovered, was an Electrical Contractor, who are generally a much maligned species of people who were always after you for favours and pester you no end for approval for things which they were supposed to do but had not done.
But not Bacchu Babu! his clients were big industrialists and they employed him for their industrial installations because they knew that he would not cheat them and still get the work done.
If you pointed out shortcomings in his work, he would never argue but go back to his client to ensure compliance. Even though it would cost more money, he would still get it done - he was an impossible person to refuse.
He did not take up the routine small cases but once in a while he would refer a small case and request us to help out, if we could. These were small cases which some lowly placed employee in some organization that he visited had requested his help.He did not charge them for this service but said he would use his goodwill to help out if he could. He also gave them no assurances because if we told him we could not accede to his request, he would accept our refusal with good grace and apprise his non paying “client” as to why the work could not be done.
But, Bacchu babu was also a mutifaceted character. It was not all work with him. He was an avid music lover and never missed the Dover Lane Music Conference since its inception in 1952. For three nights in January, he could be found in the Music festival complete with warm clothes and his briefcase, of course! On these nights the briefcase would not contain so many pens, but would have a bigger collection of Paans, which he shared with those strangers around him who were willing to partake. And there were many who did. These Paans were nothing but Betel leaves, with all sorts of condiments and sometimes with tobacco, nicely wrapped in strips of banana leaf.
A gentleman, clearly from Bangladesh because of his diction of Bengali, next to him in the conference saw his stash and asked if he could have one. Bacchu babu was delighted to find a music and paan lover next to him and gladly gave him one. As the conference progressed, he had a couple more, but the Gentleman next to him did not accept his offer for another one. Since he kept on chewing, Bacchu Babu did not find anything amiss, but when he saw the man continued to chew for an inordinately long time, Bacchu Babu was concerned. He hesitantly asked the reason why the paan took so long to finish. The other gentleman admitted that he did not understand the reason but also said that it tasted a little strange. He had said nothing to Bacchu Babu out of politeness. Then the reason hit home. Bacchu Babu quietly asked him whether the Banana Leaf cover had been removed before the Paan was taken. The poor Bangladeshi looked sheepish and admitted that it had not! He had been chewing the Banana Leaf for more than an hour and not the Paan which had long been dissolved! No wonder it tasted weird!
Bacchu Babu had never married. But he had a family. He lived with his really old stepmother, an older stepsister and numerous stepbrothers and was the breadwinner for all of them. He was perhaps a more dedicated son and brother to his stepfamily than most are to their own families. And he took his responsibility as a matter of fact - not as a favour or as a burden. They had lived in the same house for years and had no plans to move anywhere else. money was not the problem, attachment to the locality was.
He was also a compulsive and accomplished Bridge player and reader. Every evening, he spent at least a couple of hours playing Bridge at a local Club. Since his eyesight was not great, his driver would drive him down in his car and later bring him back. His Driver had been in his employ for longer than either of them could remember and was more of a family member than an employee.
Once when his car had gone for repairs and painting, Bacchu Babu had hired a Rickshaw for a week to take him to the Bridge Club and back. This routine continued even after the car came back all renewed. Bacchu Babu would go to the Club in the Car, The empty Rickshaw would follow, wait there while he played bridge, and then return to his home after he returned in his car. Bacchu Babu would continue to pay him, even when there was no need.Neither the Rickshawallah stopped coming, nor did Bacchu Babu stop paying him.
I remembered him today without any reason. Probably in this selfish world, such people are a fast diminishing species. They have a quality is is at a premium but which makes them invaluable and worth keeping in our memory. It is a quality which reinforces the belief in humanity. These people overcome greed, exploitation, insults hurled on them by the world but do not take notice and go about their life in a manner which makes these negatives feel insignificant.
They have goodness of heart!