M for "Maulvi Sahab".

Oyee Sabas!!

All right?

Left.. right...

halat tight?

Be Bright..,

Day and Night...

I would be greeted with a wide smile, and a loud and cheerful voice whenever I visited the shop closest to my home. The same routine continued from the time I went to a shop for the first time in my life, till the time I continued staying in my hometown. I would mostly go to the same shop every evening to get myself toffees with all coins I could gather on that particular day's scavenger hunt at home after I am back from school.

On most days, I managed to find a one-rupee coin, and someday if I found a two-rupee coin I would have the feeling like the richest man in Babylon.

You might be thinking that it's the owner of the shop whose greetings I am talking excitedly about, but sorry it's not him this time. It's about a Maulvi, who sat on a stool, right at the far corner of the shop.

I always wondered why was he sitting there almost every day. My mind cooked up a self-obsessed idea that he loved me so much that he sat there waiting for me every day. Then somebody broke my superiority complex and told me the real reason. He had his office in one of the depleted houses, a few steps ahead, on the opposite side of the road. Till that point, I always considered it a haunted abandoned house and never considered walking close to it or finding out more about it.

"Can I see your office", an 8-year-old me inquired Sharif Mia(that's what everybody else called him around).

"You want to see my office, come along!" he lovingly picked me up and carried me to his office.

It was a room full of wonders for an 8-year-old child in me. At first look, it looked like a ghost's Permanent Address. Of the things which looked at little humanly. there was a small floor table at approximately the center of the room. Just behind the table, by the walls, there was a small Qaleen (carpet) spread on the floor. I assumed this was his place for him to sit from here is where he carried out his trades from. 

The antique wooden floor table had several intriguing items sitting on top of a bottle of the green-colored tablecloth. A bunch of old books and manuscripts occupied most of it. They had some incomprehensible Urdu text written on top of them. On one side there was a steel plate with an incense stick, engulfing the room's mystic aroma. You could smell a strong distinct fragrance of some fresh flower, I still wonder if that was some itar or fresh flower, that I couldn't spot. There were some broken cowrie shells spread out on one part of the table, and a thick bunch of bright peacock feathers tied in the form of a broom innocently occupied whatever little space it could adjust itself into. 

He hung his identity white cap on a nail on the wall just behind the table as he open the lock and entered his office. The wall also had some old photo frames which showed him praying. Some calendars and some charts also adored the wall, which again contained some text written in the Urdu language, which was alien to me. From the wall and others, there were patches of plaster coming out, giving it a spookier look.

He showed me patiently around his room, which was a typical old village room apart from his office equipment. A bed, an old radio, a broken chair, a table with a lot of old newspapers and magazines, a kerosene lamp, an old hero cycle, and a lot of settled dust on these occupied the leftover space in his room, which resonated perfectly with ghost house Ideas.

He always had a lot of visitors, some from far-off lands, as I was told he had some superpowers. He helped people solve big problems they were facing in their lives. But they mostly came in the mornings. As a result, even on holidays, I won't go to the shop in the mornings to buy toffees. 

"Was I going to buy myself toffees there, or was I more interested in buying something else that I craved for that day, who knows !!"

His interactions with me, were special to me, like the ones my heart wished for but I rarely had those days.

He would smile, and greet almost me every day with the same above poem that I never understood. Eventually, with time, my mind started collecting the words, and then even I started greeting him with the same poem. Now whenever I would see him again, be anywhere in town we would both go together,

Oyee Sabas!!

All right?

Left.. right...

Halat tight?

Be Bright..,

Day and Night...

and let out a big laugh as the poem ended.

I was not one of those ideal kids that parents wanted in those days. My exam scores were only enough to save me from the red marks on my report card that I most dreaded. That was a reason, I believe, I had a little difficult childhood, where I felt a little unappreciated, and was struggling to find something called confidence inside me. I yearned for acceptance and respect, but I rarely managed to get an Iota of I inside my home. He showered me with an abundance of it, it made me happy, happy about myself from inside.

His welcoming me with such enthusiasm felt very satisfying. He made me feel important and appreciated every time he saw me. I loved, him valuing me, and accepting me the way I was. There was rarely somebody in those days who didn't judge me for my exam scores. He was something like a lone bright star, in the scary cloudy and stormy skies of my life.

I remember on one of my birthdays he gifted me a five rupee note along with his blessings when my friend informed him of the occasion. That was a big sum for me and an even bigger gesture for me. I loved gifts, and somehow I managed to receive non of them. But I value them more than anything, that five rupee note still sits proudly on my cupboard. In terms of world economics, it has lost 2/3rd of its value, but In terms of personal economics, it gains more value with every passing day.

On summer days he would get mangoes from his farm for me, and those mangoes were the sweetest I ever tasted in life till today. Whenever I went to buy them from his temporary sales counter, he would purposefully give me a kg more than what I paid for. 

Today, when I look recollect my childhood memories when I am alone, I rarely feature his presence as one of the highlights. 

Just like a human body is made up of Blood, tissues, muscles, bones, etc. etc. right? 

Wrong, you forgot water, the most important constituent which makes up 70% of it, but we don't count it since we don't see it directly. He was probably that water to my deserted childhood memories. (Percentages might differ).

But on some random warm summer day, when I remember the days, I cannot help myself repeat:

Oyee Sabas!

All right?

Left.. right...

Halat tight?

Be Bright..,

Day and Night...

These were probably the only English words he knew and spoke, but the way articulated them makes so much sense now. Isn't it, that we are supposed the same way with whatever we have in life? Just put together the most beautiful creation of whatever you have with you at that particular time. The words he taught me were not mere words, it was a way to live a life, this is how I interpret the words now

"I am proud of you, you are doing amazingly well,

How is life? however, it is

Keep going, without a worry

No matter how bad the situation is, tomorrow would be better

Smile, and spread happiness,

And keep doing it day after day"

Today, I am trying to live my life by the poem that my first and probably the only childhood superhero taught me.

Fast forward,

7 years ago, When I came home on my vacation after almost about a year. 

I spot his wife on the road, while I was coming back home from somewhere.

"How is uncle", I couldn't think of a question I would be more interested to ask.

Tears filled her eyes, and when her eyelid couldn't hold the entirety of it, some of them found a way and trickled down her cheeks in some volume.