He had a cut on his lip and walked with a wobble probably from polio but I will never know. My earliest memory of him is when I was a kid and he would come home and help my mother with carrying 20-30 buckets of water from the tank on the ground-floor to our home on the first floor, everyday for years. Always had a smile and always hardworking. My mom paid him a few rupees for his labour and he never argued about how much he was paid.
In addition, I saw him do odd jobs for people within our community in our neighbourhoods. Buy stuff, deliver stuff, fill up water tanks, repair things - He did all that he was asked to do and receive with humility all that he was offered. I am not sure if it was really humility or just desperation to earn his daily living. I remember, one time, when he did find courage to ask for more, he was told off sternly and said never to come back and we can find many like him. He bowed, apologised and turned up the next day.
As I got busy growing up, Haresh became a hazy childhood memory. I saw him once or twice at community functions, always on labour for some family like ours. Always helping out, never really hired. I remember him for I admired him. I looked upto him. He represented humility, hardwork and grace to me. Alas, I didn't know then that he also represented oppression, exploitation and injustice meted out to the likes of him, who didn't fully comprehend the ways of the world. I don't know how he saw it from his own perspective and now I will never know.
For many years, Haresh did odd-bit jobs for my mom and she used to pay him what she thought was a fair wage and sometimes gave him an old shirt or trouser that no longer fit my dad. She, ofcourse, always fed him for no one, absolutely no one can go out of her house without something to eat.
With time, I completely forgot about him. I married. Moved out of my parent's place. He continued to visit my mom, always working. marriage, that had its own challenges. Never felt the need to check on him, ask him about his story. How he came to be the helper that everyone depended on in our community yet no one felt to improve his quality of life.
I never found out where you lived. How you lived. Did you have dreams of your own? Who looked after your dreams? Your needs? Who held you on days when you didn't feel it. Who was really in your family? Your parents? Siblings? Argh! so many questions, all a bit too late.
He passed away last month. September 2020. My mom felt terrible. She felt sad for him. She said, 'He was always there for everyone, until his very death. Yet, when he died, no one was there for him." It hurt to learn that he died; that no one was around when he was dying; that the very people he supported never knew that he was ill or that he died. Even days after his death, people would call my mom and ask her to send their medicines through Haresh.
I don't know Haresh if people saw you, really saw you. I know I didn't. I don't want your life and memory to disappear into thin air so I acknowledge you here Haresh.
For my mom, who held a job, three kids and a household to run, you mattered. You were important and it was because of you, our mom had more time her us.
For the ailing widow, a relative, that you supported until your last day, your mattered. You gave her the reason to live on.
You mattered Haresh.
