THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 8): SWEET PAPAYA

Every emotion has a taste associated with it. The human mind perceives this taste whenever it experiences an emotion. Anger is associated with bitterness, sorrow is associated with sourness, and so on.  I had often pondered about what is the taste of purity and innocence? What is the taste of pure happiness and ecstasy? And I know the answer… It is definitely SWEET!

About six months ago, a pickle hawker arrived and setup a makeshift shop on the footpath in front of the apartment where I live, in Andheri East. Every morning he arrived religiously at 7 AM in the morning and started his shrill voiced hawking that would reverberate through the warm breeze flowing in the neighborhood. Such was his accuracy of arrival, that I was able to attribute it with the hour of the day. It became my usual habit to peep out from my window and verify his arrival with the time by my watch! Then again, as I returned home, every evening, I could see him sitting in his usual spot and wrapping up his meagre sale. Sharp at 7 PM, he would close his business and leave.

The interesting part in this entire episode was the presence of a little chubby boy, of around five years of age, who accompanied the man, every day. For the first few days my attention didn’t get attracted towards the duo, but one lazy Sunday afternoon, after lunch, I sat near the window and began observing their whereabouts. The little boy was cute enough to grasp the attention of any person with his mischievous and playful activities and I felt amused while watching him. Around three in the afternoon, the man took out a lunchbox and fed the little boy with some dry Chapattis and vegetables and then ate the rest himself. After lunch, the boy hugged the man, drank some water and continued to play around in the small garden adjacent to my apartment building. His innocent laughter floated in the air like a gush of freshness in the humid afternoon.

That evening, I went downstairs and met the man and the boy. The man’s name was Hokum Singh and the boy was named Ramu. I bought some pickle from Hokum Singh and then sat beside him for a little chat. Within the next one hour I learnt that Hokum Singh lived in the suburbs and traveled every day for selling pickle, as his livelihood. I learnt that Ramu was his only son and Hokum Singh’s wife had passed away recently.

“Sahib, this boy is my only family. My wife had a severe blood disorder and passed away a few months ago. I cannot leave this infant alone and go out to work, so I bring him with me every day. He too suffers from the same ailment as his mother and doctors say that he would require blood transfusions soon! I cannot live without him. I am trying hard to gather money for his treatment!” sobbed Hokum Singh.

I felt sad as I understood that the severe blood condition that the boy was suffering from was Thalassemia! I turned towards Ramu and asked, “Hi there. What does your Baba call you?”

Little Ramu, with animated expressive eyes and plump freckled cheeks, looked at me with an innocent grin and said, “PAPAYA!”

A sudden sensation of the sweet buttery taste of a ripe papaya filled my mind and I could instantly associate it with the carefree, cheerful and innocent laughter of the little child. His freckled cheeks got added as a visual attribution to this subtle image in my mind. I looked at him smilingly and replied, “Would you mind if I call you SWEET PAPAYA?”

Little Ramu nodded in agreement and went on to play around the bushes. Thus, my association with this SWEET PAPAYA began! Deep in my heart, I felt pained on the condition of Hokum Singh and Ramu, but tried to keep my emotions under control. From that day onward, it became my daily habit to spend some quality time every evening with SWEET PAPAYA and Hokum Singh, after I returned from work. On weekends I often invited Ramu inside our house. Aunt Padma too became quite fond of him.

One day, I gave a chunk of ripe Papaya in Ramu’s hands and clicked a picture just as Ramu was taking a big bite! I said, “This is the perfect illustration of your name… SWEET PAPAYA!”

I brought home a moneybox and began depositing some cash in it every day; I planned to hand it over to Hokum Singh when he would need it for Ramu’s treatment. At times I could observe that little Ramu’s health was failing and would buy medicines for him and give them to Hokum Singh. I even accompanied Ramu and his father to the local Hospital for an initial checkup. I was adamant that this SWEET PAPAYA should not get withered away by the cruel blow of a disease. Hokum Singh appreciated the gesture and said one day, “God has taken away his mother, but has given him another father, in you Sahib!”

The onset of my amnesia struck midway during the above sequence of events and I was bedridden in the Hospital suddenly for a week. Aunt Padma was completely devastated and kept praying for my wellbeing. Her prayers perhaps reached the right ears and I was able to return back home finally.

The day I came back home, as I peeped through my window at the footpath, I could not see Hokum Singh or Ramu. I asked Aunt Padma and she replied that the father son duo had not been around for a few days. I didn’t know where they lived and became anxious about the health of little Ramu. I asked a few servants who worked at households within my apartment complex, but none could provide a satisfactory answer.

Hokum Singh and Ramu were gone. From that day, till today, I had been unable to find them. It has been two months, but neither Hokum Singh nor Ramu returned. My amnesia is eating away my memory but I am determined to help the little child. I have kept the picture of Ramu beside the moneybox and am depositing the cash within it every day! I plan to do so until I meet Hokum Singh and his son again.

I strongly believe that the best flavor that defines happiness is that of Sweet and I cling on to the memories of my SWEET PAPAYA till fate unites us. This sweet child is like a sinewy courage in me. God has brought out the father in me, when SWEET PAPAYA came into my life and I know that even if my memories wash away, the attachment towards Ramu will not vanish. Every day I pray to God for the wellbeing of the child and hope that he again returns into my life. The picture of Ramu, my SWEET PAPAYA, would remain in front of my eyes, placed safely inside the wooden showcase beside the moneybox, and I know I will remember him, whenever he comes back.