CHAPTER 1

We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

MEETING THE STRANGER/NEIGHBOUR.

During my stints in various Mumbai flats, one neighbour left a lasting imprint on my memory. In the vast city where connections are often fleeting, this individual altered my perspective on life. It went beyond mere greetings; an unspoken connection emerged, transcending the usual routine of city living. In a transient place where faces come and go, this neighbour infused our shared space with genuine warmth and curiosity. Something that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

It was Sunday morning, and as my habit dictated, I embraced the luxury of waking up late. However, my tranquillity was abruptly shattered by the persistent doorbell, echoing like a whip against my eardrums. Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of the clutches of sleep, my mind still muddled in sedation. Without bothering to glance through the peephole, I opened the door with a tinge of annoyance, slowly shaking off the remnants of my slumber.

Still groggy from sleep, my bleary eyes took a moment to register the sight of a kindly wrinkled face accompanied by a warm smile. Despite my initial annoyance at the untimely and unfamiliar visitor, there was a certain humility in the stranger's presence that eased my irritation. With a hint of reluctance, I mumbled, "Yes, uncle, can I help you?"

Without any introduction or exchange of pleasantries, this elderly gentleman immediately addressed me as "beta." His urgency was palpable as he urged, "Beta, a woman fell unconscious downstairs; please help." Honestly, upon hearing his words, my brain and heart were at loggerheads within a split second. My brain immediately replied, "Why me, uncle? Don't ruin my Sunday morning," while my heart rebuked the insensitivity of my calculative brain. It governed the next few words that came out of my mouth: "Don't worry, uncle, let me wear a T-shirt. I am coming in a second." I went inside and scoffed out my anger at why it always had to be me providing selfless service to society. Nevertheless, I swallowed my anger and wore the T-shirt.

Residing on the first floor, we both swiftly descended the stairs. As I reached the ground, I noticed an elderly lady from afar who seemed oddly familiar. Approaching her, I was struck with disbelief – it couldn't be possible. It was my mother on the ground, unconscious. Panic set in, and without hesitation, I cradled her head in my lap, urgently calling for an auto rickshaw. My lips trembled; my voice became squeaky; the shock of seeing my mother in such a state momentarily spaced me out. In desperation, I pleaded with the uncle to stay with my mother while I rushed to fetch an auto rickshaw.

In the hospital, as the doctor examined my mother, I found myself repeatedly expressing gratitude to the stranger uncle who appeared like an angel at my doorstep. It was through his timely information that my mother's life could be saved. However, amidst my thankfulness, I grappled with guilt for initially prioritizing laziness over someone's life. It became evident that the wisdom of our ancestors, advocating for selfless service, resonates only when we find ourselves caught up in such situations. Yet, in the midst of it all, I realized I had forgotten to ask for his name. Damn, I should have asked, but in that moment, I wasn't fully in my senses.

The doctor assured me that my mother, having experienced high blood pressure, was now stable. He prescribed some medication, emphasizing the importance of timely intake. With her out of danger, my mind turned to the logical questions. How did she end up in Mumbai? I live alone here, and my parents reside in Uttarakhand. She had never visited without informing me before, so what prompted this sudden trip? I directed the inquiry to my mother, who lay on the hospital bed. Her eyes, filled with affection, shifted my attention to the calendar. Oh gosh, it was my birthday today, and she had planned a surprise visit. Overwhelmed, I planted a peck on her forehead. In the hustle of today's fast-paced life, we often overlook these small moments that constitute the essence of life that makes us human. Thanks, mom, for giving me birth and always reminding me that we are humans.

IN THE DAYS TO COME, A LINGERING QUESTION WILL PERSIST IN MY MIND: WHO WAS THAT ANGEL WITH THE WRINKLED FACE?

TO BE CONTINUED.