Remembering people – Dhirendra Chaturvedi As I turned left on Shahnajaf Road from Maharana Pratap Marg and drove towards Hazratganj, my mobile rang. I felt irritated. The roads were awfully crowded at this hour of 10 PM in the evening and it was hell of a job to drive. Traffic was in slow motion, it looked as if everyone in Lucknow had decided to come out on the roads and enjoy the illuminations of Independence Day. I took out my mobile phone from my pocket and looked at the name of caller. This was the name I had never expected to call me at this hour. It was Izhar, one of my colleagues in the office. Office was peacefully closed for four days’ holidays, the independence day, the Saturday, Sunday week end and janmashthami; and there were no emergencies that could want me on this holiday in the night. I was not in the job of fire fighting. So if it was Izhar, it must be something serious. He can’t call me at this hour without a solid reason. I stopped my car on a sideway and replied on the mobile, “yes izhar, what is this that made you call me at this hour in the night. It must be something important’’. I hate driving car while talking on the mobile. Izhar was courteous,’’ sir , you know Dhirendra Chaturvedi, he was, you know, sick for sometime, he passed away this afternoon. Sir, just thought it appropriate to tell you.’’ This was something that was shocking. I was silent for a few moments and tried to seep in what Izhar had told me. I knew Dhirendra was not well but he would die at such a young age was beyond the realm of any body’s guess. I expressed my shock and surprise to Izhar and inquired a few things about the course of events that led to Dhirendra’s death. Izhar updated me to the best of his information and added, ‘’sir the last rites are at 11 in the morning tomorrow at Bhainsa Kund’’ Bhainsa kund in Lucknow is the place known for the last journey people are taken to. I had been there for a number of times in the last twelve years. It was first working day of july 2013. I was trying to idle away a very hot and stuffy afternoon at my desk in the office of DAS India Ltd, Indira Nagar , Lucknow , when he approached me. ‘’sir, my name is Dhirendra Chaturvedi, I work in the account section of the office, you had joined us on 14th of this June, and here is a cheque for you’’. He said. I looked at him. He was not a very tall person, was thinly built, not fair complexioned, rather blackish, his scalp was full of long hair, he was dressed in a T-shirt and tight jeans. His voice was little loud and hoarse, and he stammered a little. I guessed his hair was dyed. He must have been in his mid forties. I took the cheque, glanced in at the amount it carried, made a swift mental calculation and frowned a little. The cheque carried an amount which was little less than my expectations. Probably he had read my face, and before I could utter , he said, ‘’ sir we have deducted the income tax , mandatory for us to do.’’ ‘’Ah,’’ I chuckled and dismissed him. I hated income tax, although equally hated to evade it. This is a necessary evil one has to live up with. I folded the cheque and put it in my purse. Two days after when I planned to deposit the cheque into my bank account, I took it out from my pocket purse and discovered the cheque bore no one’s signature. Dhirendra , probably in a rush of sincerity had missed to get it signed by managing director. That is how I knew Dhirendra Chaturvedi. In the next one year I had too many occasional encounters with Dhirendra Chaturvedi. ‘’Sir, you have to open an account in Oriental Bank of commerce, in fact every one has to , now there would be no more cheques, money would remitted directly into the bank accounts’’ One day- ‘’ sir, you have to personally come to bank to get your ATM card, if you wish I can accompany you.’’ Another day- ‘’ sir this is a matter which only you can handle, we know nothing about forests and trees’’ Some other day on phone – ‘’ sir you had parked your car outside the office on the road. Some motor cyclist hit it from the rear’’ I and Dhirendra Chaturvedi often rammed into each other in the corridors of office. We both bowed our heads a little with a small hello and wished each other silently. He was smart and always ready to help. I often thought of him. I wondered why he stammered, why can’t he see some doctor! I wondered he is thin but why his voice is loud and hoarse. My fertile mind often wondered why he is not fair complexioned as most of the Chaturvedis use to be, why he is different from the general tribe of chaturvedis, why he is only a clerk, why could he not rise higher in life, in fact I wondered too many things about him. I appreciated the way he dressed , most of the times a T-shirt and pair of tight geans, long hair, and a smart pair of shoes. He was trying to conduct as most of the younger people do these days. He drove a motor bike, and someone told me drove fast. He was living a full throttled life within his means. On new year picnic he had brought in his family – wife and a son to accompany him, nice little family. On 5th june, , the world environment day, when we had a function in the office premises, and every one was present, his absence was noticed and someone told he was sick for few days and under medical care. And then one day someone told he had developed brain tumor or something. He was going certain tests. And then on this day, 15th August 2014, I am told he died of illness. He died within three months of illness, and within a year I knew him. Isn’t very shocking people just die unannounced, unceremoniously without any reason, unsung?! Isn’t very strange the way life and death play hide and seek with us. Here, a few moments before someone was all aglow, a lump of heat; and now few moments after he is a piece of ice. Next day at 11 in the morning I was there at Bhainsakund to be part of his last rites. He was lying on the logs of firewood, all silent. I paid my tributes , bowed my head to him, picked few pieces of fire wood , added to the heap he was already lying on, and said my good bye to him. As I turned back I encountered an innocent looking thin boy of about ten years age, who I was told was his son. He was silent, although not crying, his face devoid of any impressions. I said to myself this boy is not aware what his innocent boyhood had passed through, the full implication of what his life has gone through has yet to seep into his body and soul. My best wishes to the family. -mohammad ahsan , Lucknow , 28/8/2014
Posted on: Thu, 28 Aug 2014 14:13:23 +0000
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