Raindrops keep falling on my shed

A story on a poor man with a few priorities in the city of Delhi. The summer months are getting too hot and he prays for rain but there's a catch...

 

It was a time to be worried. I stepped into the balcony and looked down. There was not a single soul to be seen. The hurly-burly of the neighborhood was replaced by a slothful hush. The sun was shining brightly but that did not brighten my day. The scorching Delhi heat at this time of the year was too much to handle. The headlines in the paper, “15 die of Heatstroke” and “Horse goes berserk with heat, smashes through car’s windshield” weren’t optimistic either. It was Sunday but the kids weren’t playing outside and my wife could no longer sway dizzily in the oven-like temperatures inside the kitchen. Did I hear a soft knock on the door? I turned back. It was Nasir.

‘Sahib, I saw some waste tin sheets lying in your balcony. I was wondering if I can have them.’ Nasir said gently. ‘You see, my shed’s roof is old and torn so I could use some tin.’

‘Sure, I was anyway thinking of how to get rid them of them. Let’s get the sheets from the balcony.’

Nasir removed his slippers at the door and followed me meekly. A puff of stifling heat greeted me as I reentered the balcony. I lifted the metallic sheets but my grip loosened as lying under the sun, the metal was burning hot. Nasir realized my uneasiness and in an instant, he grasped the sheets from my hands. ‘You don’t need to hold them, sahib. I will do it. You are helping me repair my shed; that itself means a lot. You better stay inside only as the temperature is on the rise today.’ He said.

I felt a sense of pity. My son was complaining why the water bottles weren’t kept inside the fridge while here was this poor chap who didn’t even have a proper roof to shield himself from the blistering heat.

‘If you want anything else for your shed, come to me without hesitation.’ I told Nasir who gleefully walked out, thanking me again

This poor old man was the husband of the maid who worked in our house. He was pretty helpful; volunteering to clean my car or look after gardening work in spare time. Nasir was a smiling personality even if his life wasn’t that joyful.

The area where Nasir lived was dotted with half built metal shacks, mud-walled huts and thatched hovels with tin and tarpaulin roofs. He resided in a waste land, a remnant of a construction site, the rest of which went in building high-storied apartment buildings serving elite clientele. The contrast between these houses and the makeshift huts behind was quite ironical.

He repaired his roof, hammering the rusted tin over the uneven walls of his humble abode. Once this was done, he decided to head back to work. He used to walk a few kilometers to a mine. The tasks that Nasir did required a lot of energy. Toiling under the sun, he broke rocks in overground quarries or sometimes dug in underground mines, anything that guaranteed a meal for him and his wife. Death was a weakly affair for labourers here. Every day of work mean exposure to hazards like noise, dust, heat, humidity and what not. The struggle to make ends meet was tough but so was Nasir.

Somehow, he dragged his tired self for work on this hot day. Even though he looked meek, years of backbreaking work had toughened up his body. Veins slithered as he moved his arms and well built calf muscles embellished his legs. Still the heat was too much, even for this man. Sweat was trickling down his back and his head was spinning. There was a moment when the slipper of his right foot came off. His bare foot came in contact with the road and the graveled path of tar was so hot that Nasir felt he was being punished by walking on burning coals. With an expression of dissatisfaction, he looked upwards asking God or the spiritual forces to do something, to hide the sun for a few minutes and sing the song of rain.

*

Nasir and a million other Delhi citizens’ prayers were heard finally after two days. The usually bored weather forecast lady had become euphoric saying that heavy showers were expected. Gloomy clouds of grey surrounded different areas of the city but it was a time of merrymaking. The sky was torn apart as the lions of the heavens roared thunder and the elephants emptied their water filled trunks from above and brought down rain. It rained heavily and the children got a day off from school. This meant that paper boats floated and clothes were dirtied. Just like the peacocks, even Nasir danced in joy. A man who has been starved to death will know the real taste of food; similarly a man who has been subjected to torture by the sun would know how to experience rain like no other being.

‘Finally, finally’ that’s all he shouted.

He quieted down only when his wife made him tea.

‘If there were pakoras with my tea in this weather, I would know what heaven feels like.’ Nasir told his wife Farah.

A pakora is a fried Indian snack (fritter). Eating fritters while sipping tea and hearing the pitter patter of raindrops on the roof is a common practice of many Indians.

‘It is raining; you have got tea and our roof is fixed; be content in that.’ Farah replied. ‘And anyway, we hardly have the ingredients.’

‘On the way back home, I will buy all the stuff. What do you need? Onions, potatoes and chickpea flour?’

‘I will also need oil and salt. A little chili powder would also be nice. But it might take some time for me to finish my work and cook the fritters. You’ll also come home late, Nasir.’

‘Ah, don’t worry about that. I will assist you in cooking today. I will get to eat pakoras after such a long time.’

A big smile formed on Nasir’s face. Having pakoras had become his mission for the day; it was a big thing for the poor man.

As he danced merrily to work, the rain did not stop. It was all fine till the situation began to go out of control. It just didn’t stop raining. Delhi wasn’t used to such high degrees of rainfall. Pellets of rain formed ripples everywhere. Some narrow streets began to be filled at alarming levels and packets and garbage strewn on the ground were now floating in the water. Roads displayed potholes of varying sizes. Trees swayed their braches and danced with the breeze at first but then some of them fell. The whole city looked like a giant water park laid out in a haphazard manner. All through the week, Delhiites wished that it rained but now they wanted the clouds to pause their activity.

In the evening, Nasir finished his work and went to the market to get the ingredients. Shops were closing down with the rain water flowing inside and people were heading home early but nothing stopped Nasir. Heading back home, he pushed his feet forward against the flow of the water which had risen till his knees. Nasir clutched the packet of spices and vegetables tightly, shielding it from the moisture.

However on coming back home, he got bewildered as there was no home.

‘The rain…the rain swept it away.’ Farah sobbed.

‘All of it?’ Nasir asked.

‘One wall remains, the other collapsed. I still managed to gather our clothes and the stove.’ She pointed towards a bundle of objects covered with a sheet of tarpaulin.

With great difficulty, Nasir had built his shed. It was fragile and imperfect but it was his home. A roof over his head looked reassuring, even if it was a roof with holes. But now he had to start over.

Farah observed the ingredients that Nasir bought from the market still clutched in his hands as if it were some treasure.

‘Ha, and we planned to make pakoras tonight. Look what the rain did.’ Nasir said.

Farah grew even more dejected on seeing her husband like this. He was so full of life in the morn and now he was as grey as the clouds above them.

‘You know what,’ She made Nasir sit on a wooden plank stuck in the wet mud and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Let’s pretend for a few minutes that nothing of this happened. I know we will have to start rebuilding again; we will scrounge for materials but at least not all of our possessions got washed away.’

Nasir thanked the heavens that even if his life was full of one crisis or the other, he had his wife to give him company always.

‘We still have the stove and the plates.’ Nasir said with a glint in his eye.

*

It was getting late enough to be worried. I once again stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched street dog that was lying down miserably near the gate, there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Rain water had puddled under the lamp post. A breeze ruffled the mango tree in the courtyard and a few twigs fell down and broke. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Did I hear a soft knock at the door? I turned back.

Nasir was standing at the door, his arms behind his back and eyes scanning the potted plant lying near my door.

‘Oh Nasir, your wife told us about what happened yesterday. If you need any more materials, I have stuff at the garage.’ I said with a worried expression but Nasir hardly looked stressed.

‘Thanks a lot for your help, sahib. Yes, I will need to start again.’ Nasir paused for a second. ‘Still yesterday was memorable.’

‘Was it memorable because of the rain?’ I didn’t understand what he meant.

‘The rain certainly changed things yesterday but I experienced a really good feeling. You see such problems happen in my life. I was heartbroken on seeing my already broken home in fragments but despite all that, I thanked the heavens that my wife was still there with me. She gives me hope.’

Nasir had never talked so frankly with me before. I felt a weird feeling, a certain pity for his state blended with a sense of optimism from his determination to face the strains of life.

‘And the thing that made me most happy yesterday,’ Nasir continued. ‘After so many months, I ate fritters.’