Another's wealth
VIKRAM KAPUR
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Sometimes, one comes face to face with truth when one least expects it...
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THEY stood apart on the pavement. The woman had her head bowed. The man was saying something to her. But she refused to meet his eyes. Finally, the man shook his head and turned to gaze down the road. His eyes settled on an approaching auto-rickshaw. His hand rose, then dropped as he saw the auto-rickshaw was taken.
Nand Kishore needed no further invitation. His auto-rickshaw started with a fart, then shuddered forward in a U-turn to pull up in front of the man. The man told Nand Kishore where he was going. Nand Kishore nodded, his smile revealing his betel-streaked teeth.
The man waited for the woman to get into the rickshaw. But she remained where she was. Finally, he asked her to come on. She continued to stand still. To Nand Kishore it appeared she wasn't coming. But then she took a deep breath and stepped forward to fold herself into the back of the auto. The man climbed in after her. Then they were off.
The two of them were married. Nand Kishore had gathered as much from the red tinge of sindoor glinting at the edge of the woman's hairline. They were both young, in their mid-to-late twenties. From the silk sari the woman was wearing, he could tell that they were comfortable.
Although the woman had got into the rickshaw, it was obvious she hadn't called a truce. In the rear view mirror, he could see her sitting on one end of the seat, gazing fixedly at the road. When her husband spoke to her, she didn't answer. Nand Kishore couldn't figure out what the husband said, since it was in English, but the long sigh with which he turned away revealed his exasperation.
Nand Kishore wondered what they were fighting about. He was so engrossed in them that he almost failed to see the red light. He was forced to clamp down on the brakes. The auto-rickshaw stopped with a jerk. Nand Kishore apologised profusely to his passengers.
A young man, dressed in rags, hobbled over to the rickshaw.
"Sahib," he said, folding his hands at the husband, "please help me, sahib. My blood pressure is high. I have not eaten anything since the morning."
"Your blood pressure is high?" Nand Kishore said, with raised eyebrows.
"Yes."
"Why? What's the reading?"
"Reading?"
"Yes, your blood pressure reading. One hundred and ten by sixty, one hundred and twenty by seventy, one hundred and thirty by eighty? What is it?"
The man swallowed.
"One hundred and thirty by eighty," he said.
"You ruffian," Nand Kishore shouted. "Run away before I give you a thrashing. There is nothing wrong with you."
He switched off the engine and started to climb out of the auto-rickshaw. The man took off. He was no longer limping. Nand Kishore chuckled.
"Another one of them tried the same thing with my daughter," he said. "I was taking her to her college in my rickshaw. She is a medical student. She asked him what his blood pressure reading was. He didn't know what had hit him."
The husband was staring at him, with eyes opened wide.
"Your daughter is a medical student?" he said.
The light had changed. Nand Kishore started the rickshaw.
"Yes, sahib," he said, over the drone of the engine. "It's hard to imagine, isn't it? That a man like me could have a daughter like that? Sometimes I even catch myself wondering. Me, not even matric pass and she about to become a doctor!"
He shook his head, with a smile.
"She has been a revelation for me and my wife, sahib," he said. "She was always first in her class. Since primary school she has received scholarships. I haven't had to spend a single paisa on her education. You know what she said to me the other day? She said the moment she qualifies as a doctor she wants me to quit driving an auto-rickshaw. I asked why. Was she ashamed of having an rickshaw driver for a father? She said, `No, Baba. You have worked long enough. Now it is my turn'."
He sighed.
"And to think when she was born I almost cried," he said. "I asked God what sins had I committed to deserve a daughter. All my friends pitied me. `Poor Nand Kishore,' they used to say. Now every one of them wishes they were in my shoes. They say a daughter is a curse, sahib, because she is another's wealth. I say that is all wrong. For me and my wife our Usha has been a boon."
There was a short pause. Then the husband asked, "Have you thought about her marriage?"
"She says she will consider it only after she has established herself as a doctor," Nand Kishore answered. "My wife talks about it all the time, though. She is scared we will never find a suitable boy for her. And if we do, how would we pay the dowry that such a boy would demand? I tell her not to worry. I have full faith in God. He chose to give her to us. Until now he has showered nothing but his blessings. He will take care of the future as well."
There was silence, when he finished. In the rear view mirror, he could see the husband's forehead knitted in thought. The wife, too, was no longer looking at the road. Her eyes were on her husband.
The traffic had thickened considerably, demanding his full attention. For the next few minutes, he concentrated on weaving his way through it. Finally, he came to a stop in front of a pharmaceutical store. Across the street from the store was an abortion clinic. A big sign on top of the clinic read: "Ultrasound facility available. Know the sex of your unborn child. Spend Rs. 1,000 now to save Rs.1,000,000 later.
Nand Kishore turned around. None of his passengers had moved.
"We are there," he said.
"Oh, yes," the husband said.
He glanced in the direction of the abortion clinic. But he made no move to get out of the rickshaw.
"We have changed our minds," he said, looking at his wife. "We would like you to take us home."
A smile broke across the wife's face, as she squeezed his hand.
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