Puran: My Man Friday

It was a very hot summer of 2006, when I travelled to Varanasi on a transfer, with a plastered hand. I had been playing cricket and a freak injury happened. The base of my little finger in my left palm had broken. Notwithstanding the inconvenience caused out of a plastered hand, the more difficult proposition was answering the question about the injury time and time again. Even before exchanging pleasantries, the question was put to me,” what happened to your hand“.

I was tired of repeating the answer and when the reason of injury was disclosed by me , another set of questions used to be put forth,” were you playing cricket, really “( of course, I wasn’t lying), “even now you keep playing”, “ it’s better to avoid playing at this age”, etc. etc.

It was here in Varanasi, I met Puran, our office assistant, for the first time, and trust me he was the only one who didn’t ask me, what had happened to my hand. Probably he would have known by now and therefore didn’t bother to ask. But I surely was relieved. Puran was of medium height, decent built, had a wheatish complexion and a face which looked very humble and innocent.

Puran, true to his face, was a very humble and hardworking guy. I liked these traits of his and I slowly realised that he was a true all rounder. In the office he could act as a plumber, carpenter, electricIan and even a mason if required.  He could do everything. So one day I asked him whether he knew driving. The answer from Puran was an extremely confident ‘yes‘, and considering his abilities I was not surprised either.

 My parents came over to visit me and wanted to see my place of work. I requested Puran to drive my parents to the office in the evening, so that they could spend a few moments in the office and then we all could go home. I had never doubted Puran’s driving abilities. There was no reason to do so. But what transpired, was an unforgettable experience for my parents.

The moment Puran started from my house, my father knew that they were in some trouble. The fellow travellers on the road to my office were in for a harrowing experience at the hands of Micheal Puran Schumacher. As he progressed, some passersby fell on the left, some on the right and the people in the front had to bear a sore backside. Only people behind the car were spared. Puran was particularly harsh on the poor cyclists and merrily  grazed them along, without remorse, with my ever so nervous father shouting out apologies after apologies. But Puran continued and eventually reached the place where the car was to be parked. My father was livid.

I was upset too, but again the innocence on Puran’s face and his extremely harmless demeanour, made me break into a laughter when my father narrated the entire incident.
Thankfully, no one was hurt as such, though my car had scratches all over. Poor Puran was embarrassed a bit. He wanted to do a good job and help me out. He was not that great a driver, but couldn’t say ‘no’ when I asked him. He truly was a simpleton.

It has been 15 years since that incident. When I had met Puran for the first time, his wife had suffered a stroke and he had four children to take care off. Puran always kept in touch and last month he called me to enquire about my recovery from Covid and informed me that his daughter was getting married. He sounded so happy on the phone. I felt good too. His hard work and sincerity were paying dividends.

I could easily recognise the innocence in his voice. He had not changed, he was the same Puran, he was my go to man… he was indeed my Man Friday.