The Milkman
In a sparsely populated industrial town
of Odisha, Piyush lived along with his wife Priya and daughter Preeti.
Endowed with wildlife sanctuaries and parks the scenic beauty epitomised
solitude. Dense forests bestowed with a variety of flora and fauna
attracted picnickers. Meandering Mahanadi passed through nature’s bosom.
Awe-inspiring was the view of lush green plants swaying on hill slopes.
Preeti, an adorable little girl of
three, sometimes visited these tourist spots with her parents. Urban
lifestyle and its sophistication helped them live comfortably. Piyush
worked with a mining and quarrying private sector company. He was the
sole bread winner of his family. Though Priya chose to quit her job and
be a homemaker, yet the toddler’s hilarious activities filled her soul
with the joys of spring. Mother and daughter spent quality time caching
memories. Often at sunset they visited the nearby parks. Slides, swings
and seesaws were all that the little one asked for. Preeti’s amicable
nature awarded her many friends. Parks lent her a million reasons to
amuse.
In a wintry evening, around eight in the evening, Piyush received a mail out of the blue. It was his third
attempt for a government sector job that had brought him laurels. Within
a month, his family shifted to the new location. Away from cacophony,
vehicular emissions and rampant smoke from industrial exhausts they had
moved onto a remote area. Only the rattling pots, swashing of sea,
fluttering birds and clucking hens broke the silence. The trio took many
days to adapt themselves to the remote lifestyle.
Almost everyday Preeti wailed for she
missed her friends. And unfortunately, there was no park in their
surrounding. Kids in the village ran after butterflies, rolled worn out
vehicle tyres, swung on aerial roots of banyan, jumped on muddy puddles
and chased small animals. Mollycoddled Preeti could hardly imagine
playing these games. Preeti’s tantrums escalated for her parents
couldn’t provide her rides on slides or swings. Surprisingly, even
toffees, ice-creams and pastries lagged at consoling the little heart.
One fine evening, Priya unbolted the door at Mr. Ramakrishna’s knock, a
man perhaps of forty. He had come to deliver milk. Priya took the bottle of
milk and went into the kitchen. Ramakrishna taught students in the
village’s primary school. But to augment his meagre income, he relied on
cattle. He was kind and hardworking and considered no job to be below
his stature. Finding a toddler with tearful eyes, quivered Rama’s
heart. He thought of sharing her pain. Thus he waved his hand lovingly,
gesturing her to come near him.
Without wondering for a while, she ran
to him as if she had found a friend in him. Piyush and Priya rushed to
their living room upon listening the toddler’s tinkling anklets running
outdoor. Both of them heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing their ward
laughing at her loudest. Tears of joy rolled down their cheeks viewing
the toddler swing. The Milkman was singing a melodious song and cradling
the angle in his towel. Four of them sparkled a score of smiles. This
turned to be an everyday affair. Preeti’s ears eagerly waited for
the tinkling bell in the evening. Rama would come, take the little one
in his arms, sing and cradle her. An array of chuckles the child spread
out, eased all his aches.
Post few years of his service in the
rural area, Piyush was once more transferred to the town. Unfortunately
the Milkman and the toddler could no longer meet or interact or laugh
out loud. Both of them moved on in their lives but their voids could
never be filled. Everyday on his way to sell milk, the Milkman would
pause outside a vacant house for few
seconds, pull out a photograph from his shirt’s pocket, flash a smile,
shed some tears and pass by. The house was where the adorable little
girl dwelt in once.
The little girl grew up in the next two
decades. Within these years, Preeti and Priya tried reaching out
Ramakrishna over the telephone. Alas! All efforts in vain. Each time
they heard it as -” The dialed number doesn’t exist, please check your
directory and dial again”. Nonetheless, the honey sweet memories leaped
over fallouts of technology. Preeti manyatimes recalled those times
spent in the remote area. In her diary, she had mentioned about how
grateful she was to meet Rama uncle. She completed her schooling with
fair grades. She went on to pursue her Bachelor’s degree from Harvard
University in the United States. Despite being in a foreign land,
whenever she drank a mug of milk, her subconscious mind reminisced Rama
uncle and his ways of pampering her younger version. Post graduating
from the Harvard, Preeti was offered jobs by renowned multinational
companies with handsome packages. But she willingly refused to accept
those job offers. Hardly, anyone thinks of undertaking such a risk.
Preeti risked it all for her once put off desire of settling in India
had rekindled. Her dream was to start her own enterprise in her homeland. Thus, she returned India and established her own business which flourished, efficaciously.
Ramakrishna had retired from his job and
was suffering from osteoporosis. His lean and weak body restricted him
from milking the cows and riding bicycle. His money-grubbing sons thus
sold the cows and orphaned him on a fateful day. Humiliated by the
inhumane behaviour, Ramakrishna left the village. He went to the city in
search of a job. But helpless Rama couldn’t seek any and moreover ran
out of the little money he had within a week. Beside a traffic
congestion, on a pavement Rama perched for some time and gulped water.
His hands then caressed the photograph he saw everyday reminiscing
Preeti. Alas! A heavy gust of wind blew away the photograph from his
hands. The wind carried it through a car’s open window and placed it on a
person’s lap seated on the driving seat of an Audi. The person turned
it around and cheerfully exclaimed: “How cute the little girl in this
picture is!”
On the spur of the moment, a fountain of
childhood memories cascaded in the lady’s mind seated behind. She
screamed: “Our Milkman”. She snatched the photo from her driver’s hand and ran towards the pedestrian. The lady was Preeti Arora, entrepreneur of a successful multinational company.
