Moiideen

He was a Man. A Man with a white lungi and a maroon shirt. He got up at a stop that was much like a big small town on our way from Munnar to Kochi in KERALA. Instead lots of seats being vacant behind in the bus , he spotted one between me and my friend. And my friend frowned “Do he have to sit here only, picche itne seats khaali pade hai yaar?.” The seats were really small to squeeze in another third even though it was a three seater. Somehow we did managed. I smelled a smell of toddy, the moment he took his seat. While studying the map of Kochi to plan our day travel of only four hours, he interrupted, “ Kerala map?.” “ No Ernakulam”. I continued my study and again his voice “ your native” “ Bombay.”…I noticed a unique way of local keralites to show approval, to my answer. Nod your head thrice with a genial look that says, “Yeh I do get what you say.”

The man beside me was a growing interest. To know a place better, knowing local people in that place itself is a must. How they work? How they eat ? Their lifestyle? These smalls thing about small people gives a better picture of the place on first hand, rather than the local tourist spots.So I decided to intitiate a small talk. And I asked “ Have you been to Bombay.” And He said “ I wish but my background not good. Lots money needed for a week`s stay in Bombay. 45000 rupees +.”
It really took me aside and I still regret that question, I never meant to ask his financial background but somewhere down the line that answer brought him closer to me. It’s a brave act to show your own real face in first talk itself. After this it really dint mattered to me, Who he was? Or what he did?. And I stopped judging him because now I knew who this man really was from inside. Judgmental evaluation truly evades purity. A true face really cannot be judged.
“ What do you do?.” I questioned
“ Farmer..Rice,Rubber,Banana.” He was really proud to say those words. And I enjoyed hearing them too
“ Your name.”
“ Suraj.” I said “ yours.”
“ Moiideen.”
“ Muslim?.” I asked
“ Yes. But in Kerala. No muslim no hindu. We live like brothers. One house, one room Hindu other room Muslim.But in your land Hindu Muslim kill for mere small property.”
I wished to say “ That’s your land too.” But he asked further
“ I read in papers that in Bombay all is because of Shivsena.Is it true?.”
I tried to keep ………but his eyes gazed for an answer . “ Well, can say so.?”

“Well people here wear lungi always?.” I asked
“Yes.”
“Whats so special about orange and white. Special occasions for or aise hi.”
“No not special. any lungi will do. But normally white when outside.”
“ But why lungi. Why ? lots of air in and air out . Better Ventilation?.”
He laughed and I saw his paan stained teeth for the first time . “ Just. But my kids wear pants when out.”………. “ and home must be lungi?.” I added to his answer.

I watched the bus swerve right and then left and right and then left again on the hilly terrain.

“ So.How do you earn from? Rice .?”
“ No.No.Rice for eating. Not selling.”
“ Then …”
“ Rubber and bananas for selling.” He affirmed.

Our talk continued for a while and he enlightened me with insights about his land of 10 acres yielding 30 quintals rice, rice that is grown only during 7 months and his fields kept dry on other months because there is no arrangement of inland waters in that hilly area.

“ How many kgs rubber every day.” I asked
“ 300 trees . 20 kgs of rubber on alternate days.”
I nodded my head and said ohh.okie.

A silence maintained us for a while and I decided not to burden him for another few minutes.
But .
“ So what special thing I get in Ernakulam.”
“ Ernakulam. No. Nothing. Its just city like city. Largest city of kerala.” He said.
“Oh okie. So only pants and no lungi.”
He smiled again. “ yeh yeh .”
“You cannot trust people in the city. In village you can trust anyone but there You cannot trust anyone.” He said .
“Oh Thanxs . Beware!!.” I said to myself.
He added “ Its just like Bombay”…
“ Hmm. Aha ..You.. cannot.. trust.. anyone.. either...” I elaborated.

Whenever silence crossed us , I just glanced at the road through the front glass thinking what should I question .
How is education in kerala? How is the its quality? How do you really go about and manage a farmer`s life?

So I pointed out my finger at him and said “ how much study did you ?”
“ 10 + 2 . 67 passed .”
“ So you passed out in 67 .”
“Yes .” he replied.

Suddenly he just looked through the window watching some familiar signs and gestured as of getting of from his seat and saying.
“ My stop has come.”
So I pulled my hands out for a handshake and said “ It was Nice meeting you .”

There is always some part of you in me and some part of me in you ,when you and me share good moments.
The same rings true with Moiideen and me.
I may not remember his face in the darkness of that noisy bus. But his lungi , his shirt and his umbrella that he hanged on the front seat will be in my memories forever.

He just passed me with a handshake and then uttered last words.
“ Nice meeting you too.”