The weather was unbearable. The sun glistened brightly and the scorching rays of the sun added fuel to fire. Exhausted and irritated I drove my scooter returning and cursed everyone and everything I found. Cursed my work, cursed the roads to be so bad and hated my life to have so much HARD WORK, as I put it.
As I returned, an old man paused my way in between of a slightly narrow road. I could not disrupt the traffic and cut the side. I had to drive slowly. Slower than usual. I was getting angrier and losing my patience. I was tired already and this man was stopping me from reaching HOME and giving my tired eyes some rest. I blowed my horn continuously and impatiently.
Whilst I push hard the button that blew that screeching horn, something caught my eye. And I stopped at once. I saw a metal box. A long cylindrical box attached to the rear of his bicycle. It was a lunch box. This lunch box acted as a splash of water to a ground burning from the heat of the sun. A tight slap and a lesson to a being who always complains.
Awed with guilt, I wondered, what this man did for a living?
This old man, in his mid seventies, rode his bicycle. Thin and lean body. Black with sunburns. Hair line barely visible. Spectacles hanging loose on his nose, drove without caring for the rest. His weakness was visible by the way he rode. Slowly, as if his shoulder’s were tired of the same factory he has been working in for the past 35 years. As if he was all by himself and as if he missed his childhood days, when under the mango groves he used to play with his village friends, unaware of the responsibilities that were waiting for him. I thought where his children were? Or if he ever had any?
Wondered what this man took in that lunchbox of his? Dried stale chappati or something of a treat to his taste buds? I wondered when he got home if anyone was waiting for him? Or if he had the bliss of a Warm or Cozy bed? I wondered how many hours he worked daily and how much wage he got in return.
I wondered how many times he was disrespected and ill treated to not have worked properly and yet he never said a word. These thoughts flashed my mind and in a flick of a second this incident turned out to be a life lesson. I drove home, brimming with guilt and grief, and slowly slipped in that WARM bed of mine.
Life, is unfair, they say. Life is harsh, they say. Life doesn’t ALWAYS treat you well, they say.
One is never satisfied, I say. Count your blessings, I say. You have far more to be happy for, than that old man.
You ride a bike, he has most probably never even sat on one, let alone riding.
You know you have a HOME to rest, he probably has a hut which he calls a home. You are right now reading this blog with some electronic device and an internet, he can’t even pronounce internet.
Don’t always complain, live each second fully and realize, that you have so many blessings to be happy for and so much to give credit for.