It was part of my daily routine, a very heartening experience, to watch the old couple. Though bent with age, their serene faces would have without doubt won the award for a happy couple hands down, anywhere in the world.
They worked in the shadows of the corridors of power. Be it a warm day, with the sun shining bright, or a cold day, with the sky grimly clouded, one can be sure that the couple would be there, busy at work.
For the past eight or nine months they have been a sort of permanent fixture in my life. If, perchance, I missed them one morning, it left a void in my day.
I chanced on the couple one evening when it was raining lightly. I was walking towards Shastri Bhavan (the main building where the Central government offices are situated in New Delhi) from the imposing façade of North Block (the ancient complex that houses the finance ministry of the central government) silently mouthing curses at the capriciousness of time and tide that had landed me in Delhi, far away from my dear family and friends in sunny, spirited Tamil Nadu.
There is a small stone-covered path that takes one through the imposing lawns that border the famed Rajpath. The path goes down from Raisina Hills, which houses Rashtrapati Bhavan as well as North and South Blocks, towards another famous landmark in Delhi — India Gate.
This stone path is shady during summer and cozy during winter. It is a pathway utilised a lot by babus of the Central Government as an easy short cut to reach several power centres.
I was midway through this pathway when I noticed a bent form sitting on the edge of the pathway engrossed in something. It was the aged woman, attired in a brightly coloured chunni and churidar, complete with nose ring, anklets and colorful designs on her hands and feet. When she saw me she gave me a smile, which was one of the most warm and happy smiles that I have ever received in my life.
She was using an old gardening tool to dig out, with small amounts of mud, small weeds that were growing on small patches that immediately bordered the stone pathway.It was obviously a hard and monotonous job, but the lady was all smiles.
It was my turn to smile, in wonderment and appreciation of how the old woman was tackling life and her job head on — boldly and with a spirit of unbridled optimism.
Further down the pathway there was another bent figure — her husband. He also had an infectious smile that could easily brighten up any miserable life, even that of a displaced babu crying out for vendetta!
Every now and then the lady would make a comment that was immediately reciprocated by the old man.
These exchanges were punctuated by the gruff laughter of the old man and the tinkle of the bangles worn by the old lady as she covered her face when smiling contentedly at the comments made by her husband.
My bitter thoughts about the ravages of time flew away in a second. I felt invigorated. If an ordinary gardener couple can develop an optimistic view of life from their hunched up position, what right have I to quarrel with fate that has provided me with a good source of livelihood and the wherewithal to provide for my family even from as far away as Delhi?