Hyder Ali came from a humble background. Education was not a priority in his family. All efforts and contacts of any sort of his father were directed towards finding a secured job for him to ensure a tenable future. Hyder’s father was a cook at the company guest house and a pretty good one. So much so, the British general manager of the company often commandeered his service to entertain special guests. Yes, his father knew the GM; personally.
Our school was a boys’ school run by the company for the benefit of its employees. The official status or positions of the fathers did not matter a bit. The teachers, however, were overtly supportive of Hyder. Sending him to school was a reluctant decision of his father. Hyder started rather late and was a couple of years older than the rest of us. Within a short spell of time, he started excelling in all subjects and competed with the brighter boys for the top spot. Teachers went out of their way to nurture him.
However, Hyder dropped out when we reached the seventh standard; immediately after he was offered a scholarship. The teachers were perplexed. The headmaster personally tried to contact Hyder’s father but the old man refused to see the veteran teacher. A group of boys were delegated to Hyder’s house. They were chased away by the old man. He would not allow them to meet his son.
A few weeks later, while walking to school, we witnessed an amazing spectacle. It was our dear friend in a milk white tunic and trousers and a matching cap riding a brand new bike. When we jostled around him to find out what was going on, he gave us a contemptuous look and announced in unaccustomed English, “Now working” and rode away. The encounter was duly narrated to our class teacher later. The elderly teacher shook his head and sighed. Later, we discovered that Hyder’s father requested the general manager for a job for his son. The all-powerful GM obliged his favourite bawarchi and got his son a job as a ward boy at the company hospital. As he was only 16, his age was inflated in the job application. Anyway, we met him on several occasions till we finished school . He did communicate but the contempt for a bunch of school going kids was too prominent. In course of time, we went our own ways and lost contact with this childhood friend.
Many years later, my wife was admitted at the same hospital to deliver our first child. The nurse-in-charge briefed us about the setup of the maternity ward and summoned the ward boy on duty. A balding Hyder appeared with a big smile; and froze. His smile disappeared. He mumbled a faint “excuse me”, turned around and walked away. The nurse-in-charge was furious, apologized for this unexpected behavior and assured us that Hyder was in fact very efficient and helpful senior ward boy with many years of experience. I decided to keep quiet, at least for a while.
A day later, when I was back in the hospital during the visiting hours, my wife confirmed that Hyder-bhai, as he was known, was indeed very cordial and friendly. But for some strange reason, he addressed all other ladies as “madam” but for my wife it was a very respectful and soft “boudi” or bhabhi. I enlightened my wife with his entire life story and requested her to treat him with respect as she would any other friend of mine.
After a week or so, we were ready to leave the hospital with our little baby daughter. As was the custom, a bit of a tip was to be paid to the hospital junior staff, which was usually collected by the r ward boy. Neither I nor my wife was prepared to do this. Instead, we detailed my mother-in-law to handle the delicate task. Hyder came into the room after I left and my mother-in-law thanked him for all the help and offered him an envelope. His eyes became moist and voice choked, as narrated by my wife later. He politely refused to accept the envelope and declared for the first time, “I know your son-in-law personally; and I cannot accept this”. My mother-in-law, as she was briefed, said, “I know, you two are childhood friends. My son-in-law told me all about you and him. You are also like a son to me; this is a gift from a mother or an aunt (maasi). An emotionally drained Hyder accepted the envelope and took my baby daughter in his arms before bidding farewell. However, he made no attempt to meet me.
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The Hospital where my daughter was born
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That was the last time I saw him.
Siddhartha Deb
Kuwait; 7 August 2012
