Cheeku,
Gafoor mian is no more. I can still see him sitting on a makeshift stone bench under the tree near Ahimsa Circle mending cycle tyres, repairing cycles. As he had always done since 1965 or so, he sat everyday of the week. The only times he would not be seen there was when he was ill or there was some celebration at home.
My earliest memory of Gafoor mian is of Class VI, the year I got my first cycle from Akar Cycles Ltd. in Kishanpole Bazar. It was 1966. Ashok Marg was a very quiet neighbourhood with bungalows of mostly IAS officers. We would walk around on the road with very little traffic. In fact we would see only one or two cars pass by every two hours or so. I don’t know when Gafoor mian started repairing cycles but I remember a 18 something stoutly built young man filling air in my cycle tyres or sometimes repairing it.
Years went by and I graduated to a motorcycle. My connect with Gafoor mian became sporadic. But he would always come home and meet all of us on festivals. We would share mithai with him. He had a loud voice but always respectful. He was also watchful and whenever everyone would be travelling he would keep an eye on the house. With six buas in the house, there was always a menace of roadside Romeos but Gafoor mian was ever ready to pick a fight to chase these men away. In 1978 when I qualified for the IAS, Gafoor mian was so happy. He rejoiced like a family member, went around the colony informing all the neighbours.
Routinely, the municipal authorities came around confiscating stuff belonging to street vendors and Gafoor mian was no excepting. But each time they came Gafoor mian would run to our place and ask Dadi to intervene, who would then speak to higher ups and he would be spared. When I became Collector, Gafoor mian one day asked me to give him a certificate that would keep all the authorities away! I wrote that Gafoor mian had been repairing cycles on the pavement from before 1966. He had repaired my cycle when I was studying in school. In all those years he had not encroached upon the pavement by erecting a shop or making any permanent structure. He sat under the sky irrespective of the season and at the end of the day, he took away his tools leaving nothing behind. He had acquired easementary rights and until he resorted to making any permanent structure he should not be disturbed. Gafoor mian always kept that letter with him, and the letter worked too, for he was never removed from his place.
When you started going to St. Xavier’s Cheeku, you would walk down to school. I never knew this till after you went away that you would sit on the stone bench while Gafoor mian repaired cycles and talked to him about life and times as you watch people go by on the road. Gafoor mian narrated this to me crying when he heard of your going away. He felt he had lost a very close friend. As with others, you had touched his life and made it beautiful.
A few months ago, Gafoor mian came to see me when I went to Jaipur. He looked very ill and his ankles were swollen. I sent him to a doctor and it was found that his diabetes had worsened and his kidneys were not functioning well. He was advised to take medicines regularly. We decided that we will bear his medical expenses. He started improving. When Tubby got married, he celebrated with us. He was so much part of the family.
Last week, we were all in Jaipur. Sometime in the afternoon Vijay Bhaisaheb got a call from his son. Late on the previous night, Gafoor mian had felt very uncomfortable and was taken to the hospital where he died of a cardiac arrest. I could not believe the man I had seen forever under the tree on the pavement near our house was no more. But I would see him whenever I would pass by the place where he sat. He could never go from there.
He would be there in heaven somewhere sitting on the pavement with his tools, regaling those passing by with his stories mending celestial cycles! I am sure in all your journeys through the galaxy you would find him someday and he would greet you the way he always did…with a broad smile and a booming voice…
Love
Dad