On the bright morning of Makar Sankranti, an auspicious day for charity, I carried a large packet carefully wrapped in brown paper and stopped at a small tea stall in the corner of the lane.
“For you,” I said, placing it on the wooden counter. “A double-bed blanket for your family.”
He did not open it fully. He gently slipped his hand inside the small opening and touched the fabric as if feeling warmth itself.
“It is very costly, madam,” he said softly.
Costly?
I had watched him every day.
From early morning till late evening he worked without pause — boiling tea in aluminum kettles, serving it hot in glass tumblers, kneading dough for samosas, stuffing spicy potato filling, frying bread pakodas crisp and golden. Yet his face never carried fatigue. He smiled constantly, laughing with customers, greeting everyone warmly.
His stall was small, but his heart was vast.
Stray dogs often gathered near his shop. When I once brought medicines for injured dogs, he told me not to wait there and said he would feed them himself when they came for food. And he did, patiently and regularly.
He had four school-going children — three daughters and a son. He never complained of overwork or hardship even when he had a huge family to support. He accepted life cheerfully and lived with quiet dignity.
His sincerity and contentment moved me. The blanket was only a small gesture for a man who gave warmth to so many people every day.
He finally unfolded the packet. The thick blanket spread across the counter like a winter sun.
For a moment he remained silent.
Then his voice trembled slightly.
“Now my children will not feel cold.”
With moist eyes, he touched my feet.
I stood still — humbled — realizing that sometimes the giver is not the one who gives the gift, but the one who teaches the meaning of humanity.
Pic : Unsplash
No comments:
Post a Comment