It was very hot and humid that day; and I was late. The local train was placed on platform number one, and Purulia Express was to leave from seventeen. I ran with my heavy bag, dodging and hitting people on all sides, tendering and receiving apologies and expletives in an extremely crowded Howrah station. When I finally discovered my seat in D1, I didn’t like the sight of it. There were smudgy shoe-stamps, torn newspapers and enough water to make everything disgustingly muddy. And there was a man sitting right next to the mess, observing me intensely.
“I cleaned up a part of this to make a little room for myself,” he said with a wry smile. I looked at him properly for the first time. A little head on a proportionately crafted torso, with heavily sun-burnt and hairy hands, and two sticky legs were all that made him. He had sparse hair at the back of his head, and hence his forehead stretched itself through the bald head with all the freedom in the world. His nose was like a small sandy mound on a vast sea beach, and his teeth were horribly stained red. He wore terry cotton pants and a plain cotton shirt. His old golden watch could hardly be seen in his hairy hand. His beard gave away his religion.
His name was Mashook. He introduced himself just after the ticket-checker had checked our tickets; I hadn’t put my earphones back in my ears. He started talking about something very front-page, and I was quite surprised to discover the depth of his knowledge and the accuracy of his facts. I immediately put back my MP3 player in my pocket and started sharing my views on that matter with him. An hour later when it was time for me to disembark at Kharagpur, I really wished to spend some more time with him. And to my pleasant astonishment I realised that I had been addressing him as Mashook Shaheb. It was I who asked for his phone number. He gave me his card. He was the Chief Judicial Magistrate of Siuri. We shook hands before I got down, and in a very warm and friendly voice he said “Professor, it was really nice talking to you. I hope we will keep in touch. Have a great life”.
Since my school days I have been asked a number of times about my hobbies. My friends know that I have four. I love meeting new people and making friends. I like to watch films. I enjoy listening to songs for hours together, and I write. I have made many friends on trains and buses, and even hospitals; but no one had ever been a decade older than me. No one who was a decade older gave me the respect that Mashook Shaheb did that day. So I decided that I would keep in touch with him. And I did.
Ours is a cool friendship. Whenever any one of us goes home by the Purulia Express, he calls the other person to check if coincidentally the latter is going home by the same train that weekend. We wish each other on religious occasions too. A few months ago he called me one morning. He had seen a real estate ad in a newspaper, and wanted me to check if the property was worth buying. The property was in Belur. I found out that it would be a bad investment, and told him so. But I wanted him to come to Belur and check for himself. He refused, and told me that he trusted my judgement. He also asked me whether he should admit his son to a Ramakrishna Mission residential school. Ever since we met two years ago, with every phone call we have built on our trust and deep friendship. It always feels good to talk to him for a few minutes. I have rarely seen another honest man like Mashook Shaheb.
A few days ago I went to a place called Nalhati to attend a friend’s wedding. On the day I was supposed to return, cancellation of trains and a political agitation upset all my plans. My friend wanted me to stay back, but I had to go to Kharagpur. It was Maa’s birthday, and I wanted to give her a surprise in the evening. I had never been to Nalhati before, and hence didn’t know how to go to Kharagpur from there. Because of the cancellation of trains and the political agitation on the highway, neither trains nor buses could take me out of the place. After sitting in the bus for two hours, I remembered that Mashook Shaheb resides in Siuri. I had no idea about how far away Siuri was from Nalhati, except for the fact that both are in North Bengal. I called him nevertheless, and narrated my plight. He told me that he would come and take me to his home from Nalhati in his official vehicle. That vehicle with a red beacon no one would dare stop, he assured me. I asked him how he would manage to come out of work in the middle of the day, and he said “But this is my responsibility too, my friend! Don’t worry about all that. I’ll manage things here. You stay in the bus till I arrive.”
Soon after that conversation that day the bus began to move. The police arrived and removed the agitators from the road. I called Mashook Shaheb and told him that he need not come, and that I would have to go home that day to be with Maa. But I needed help with the bus route, because originally I was to travel by train from Bolpur, but missed it due to the agitation. From that time, till I reached home at eight in the evening, Mashook Shaheb called me every hour, to enquire if everything was alright. I was deeply touched by his care and concern.
I have not met Mashook Shaheb since the time I first saw him on that hot and humid day in June, two years ago; but today he is one of my closest friends. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how we meet certain people in the most bizarre and hostile situations in life, and create relationships that last for a lifetime?
