The Gardener

She knew him for almost twenty years now. Through most of her childhood, all of her adolesence and youth he had been there. Silent, un-ubiquitous but, always present with that quiet and shy smile. There was never a time that anybody in the household would notice his presence. But his absences, which were few and far apart, never went unnoticed. Be it watering the plants in the huge garden that was the pride and joy of that grey house or the sudden errand to the local market for the extra grocery that needed to be bought for the unannounced guest that Father was bringing home to lunch, or for accompanying her and Sister back from school-he was the Man of the household. It seemed incredible to her now that an entire household would function smoothly, simply based on the faith that he was around whenever there arose any need. Yet.....she never seemed to have noticed him.Why! most of the time when she had looked for him, she didn't know where to look. But whenever she did look for him, somehow, from some place he would appear with that shy smile on his slightly tilted head and ask ' Khuj chile? (looking for me?)

Yes she had looked for him for reasons she had never looked for anyone else: To tie up her shoelaces when Mother had been busy with something else, pluck the best Dahlia in the garden to impress her school teacher...for getting her bicycle to the repair shop on his way home. Every morning he would be there at the house; in his brown (khaki? black?) pants and a light shirt..sometimes there would be brownish coloured sweater on him in the few, cold days of December.. totting his rusted, old cycle.On one handle hung the almost colourless jute bag and on other, the straw hat that he would wear the whole day as he....as he went about whatever he did all day. Sometimes when she looked out from her study towards the sprawling garden beneath, she would find him bent over a flowering bed holding a water sprinkler; however from where she looked, she could only see the straw-hat-covered-head and the veined hand holding a water hose. At times he would look up, smile and go back to watering the flower beds.

Once she had heard Grandmother talk about her own childood days during the last days of the British rule in India; Mother often complained to him about the banal day to day problems; Father would sometimes discuss with him about work-place politics; Grandfather spoke to him about the best time of the year to sow the new flowering seeds and about the state of affairs in villages under the present government (infact it appeared to her that Grandfather was relying on him to reveal the true state of affairs as opposed to the papers and his peers!). Later she had a vague feeling that without being told much he knew a lot about her house and her family.. much more than she, or any other members of the family, did.

But there was a time when this man's life had fallen apart. Irrevocably.

He had two daughters, the smaller one being his favourite. She died at five..because of negligence on part of the doctor in diagnosing a critical case of Meningitis. His wife went into shock and till date hasn't recovered. She still remembered that day when he came back after the funeral. It was a bright, sunny, June morning.That was only time she had seen him cry. Never before and never after. And that was the day she realized what his presence and his quiet composure had mean't to the sanity of the household. Later he married off the elder daughter at an young age. It was probably his guilt stricken conscience... She remembered attending that wedding. She wished she hadn't.

Many years later, when the magic wand of forgetfulness had erased all painfull memories away, when things had settled in just like there was never a day like that.. One warm september evening she had biked fast from her hostel along that red dusty road towards that grey house ... famished and in a hurry to get home, only to find it all dark; Mother was probably out taking an evening stroll as was Grandfather, Father wasn't back yet and Grandmother was out for her evening rounds of bridge. She was upset and tears welled up in her eyes thinking that there was no one to open the door only because she had come home unannounced. She debated on wether to go back and risk the stale canteen food, for it might still be a good part of an hour before anyone showed up. But she decided to wait. Irritatedly, as she started to sit down on the porch to wait for some one to come back..she heard a familiar and shy voice asking " khuj chile?"

It was Nepal kaka, the man employed to manage just the garden.