KHAAKRAS.

PRESENT.

The old lady would knock like clock work at our siesta hours. Be it any season, She would be there every week at our door with a smiling face exposing her metallic teeth. She would sell us a variety of 'khaakras' wrapped neatly in plastic covers. They were crisp as her resolve. We never refused her. She was an aged poor lady trying to make her ends meet. It was the least we could do to salvage her misery. She had so far consistently refused financial help. She was a morally upright lady but time had bent her, overburdened her with such a tedious job.

She would simply smile even if a door was answered with insults. She was accustomed to this harsh world. If her own people had never supported her, what could be expected from this world. During rains she used to wear a big raincoat with an over sized umbrella to protect her 'khaakras'. She did not even mind getting drenched for that.

The hard khaakras were reminding us of her hard life. We acknowledged it and generously used to buy stuff from her, often gladdening her.

PAST.

It was my Hematology posting in my final year of MD. One patient near the window was happily chatting with the gathered relatives oblivious of her illness and suffering. She was a 50 yr old lady who was in the ward for the last 3 months.

She had Thrombophilia which caused spontaneous clotting in her blood vessels often leading to catastrophic events. So far, she had lost her one arm and half of her leg due to gangrene. She was the darling patient of our ward in view of her happy go lucky nature. Her illness never deterred her from joking , chatting and often laughing with us. She had accepted her fate. Her loving husband always used to be by her side. His face was a personification of worries, anxieties and burnout. Yet, whenever he used to enter the ward he used to get packets of 'khaakras' for the staff. The couple had been running this business.

Our posts changed and soon we passed out. One day, I met her husband in the train. On seeing me, he immediately hugged me and burst into tears. His wife had left him for the heavens. I felt very bad that day. I along with my family stopped eating 'khaakras' from that day.

PRESENT.

Every time we buy the 'khaakras' from the lady who comes at our door, It is out of respect. We distribute them to our maids, drivers and other staff. I do not want to see dejection on the old hard working lady's face. I help her indirectly, this way.

I can see the tears behind her smiling face.