WEARING COLOURED GLASSES
This happened while I was working with a large business group as a HR manager. After having been promoted as a manager from an executive position, I felt the need to attend a training programme to hone my managerial skills. Encouraged by my CEO, I registered for a programme at New Delhi. Arrangements for my stay were made at the company guesthouse at Sheikh Sarai, Delhi. This guesthouse was owned by another company, which was part of our business group, though we never had any direct transactions with them.
Shamsher was the man Friday of the guesthouse. He rose early, greeting each guest with a smile, served delicious breakfast and generally looked as if he had just woken up from bed. However he never looked anyone in the eye. Shamsher Singh was from UP, a “bhaiyya”, and poor to add. This was enough for me to view him with suspicion. To add to this “potent” combination of ingredients, I had received some seasoned tips from our Finance manager, about how I should be wary of such people.
My better half Shiv too had some work at Delhi and had thus accompanied me. Every morning Shiv dropped me off at the training venue, attended his tasks and came to pick me up in the evening .The evening was packed up lots of activities, some sight seeing, lots of eating and shopping. So every night we returned to the guesthouse with several shopping bags filled with clothes, footwear, little trinkets and gifts for everyone back home. I would carefully pack all these and count and recount them every night since I knew Shamsher had a spare key. My husband was surprised and was curious about the sudden change in me – I was never a person who locked my cupboard or my room, never suspicious and generally careless about my belongings. I told him what I was advised my by colleague and added, that Shamsher did not look too trustworthy. He laughed it off and asked me to relax.
Finally the training programme ended and so did our shopping spree. We thanked Shamsher, tipped him generously and left for the station with our enormous luggage. Our indulgent shopping had cost us quite a bit and we had exhausted almost all the money we had carried, except a couple of thousand rupees. (This was in 1992 – when we did not possess credit cards, ATM cards or debit cards – we had just heard of them). There was chaos all over at the Nizamuddin station and as we were wondering what was happening, there was an announcement that due to a major derailment near Jhansi, all trains going or coming via Jhansi were cancelled. We were horrified; it meant we had to stay back at Delhi until we could try some other mode of returning home. So after getting the tickets cancelled, (luckily I kept the money from the refund of my tickets in my purse) we went back to the guesthouse. There was nothing we could do except stay back that night and work out some plans the following day.
When my husband put his hands in his pocket to take his purse to pay the taxi, we had the second shock for the day. His pocket had been picked. He then recalled the smart young man who was talking to him at the station and profusely apologised after bumping into him as he was leaving. Cursing fate and our circumstances, we went back to the guesthouse with forlorn faces. Shamsher welcomed us back, gave us our room and said he would arrange for some dinner. When we came down for dinner, he observed our morose expressions and asked “Saab, Madamji, what’s the matter?” .My husband told Shamsher that it was something we would have to handle on our own and that he (Shamsher ) should not worry about it. However he insisted and listened to our woes. He asked us to carry on with our dinner and went out .He returned in the next twenty minutes and came to our room. Knocking at the door he said in a very hesitant manner, “Saab, can you come out for a minute?” There he stood, with a wad of crumpled notes in his hand, and said, “Saab, there are four or five guys from my village who work in the vicinity. I have met all of them and gathered some money .I feel ashamed but all of us together could manage to pool in only about 1000 rupees. Please take it.” Saying this without waiting for an answer he, stuffed the money into Shiv’s hand and left.
What an eye opener this was for me! Here I was, checking my luggage everyday with the fear that Shamsher might have stolen something, and there was Shamsher, who had never met us before, never known us but trusted us enough to lend us his paltry savings. Here I was, an “educated” person, looking at him with suspicion, there he was, an illiterate rustic, looking at us with trust. I realized then that I needed to discard the coloured spectacles, which I wore, colouring all I saw with doubt and negativity. I realized then that I was just literate, but Shamsher was more educated than me.
