SHERU

Sheru Shafi Shaikh

Sheru. His real name was a bit difficult. It was something like Sarfarazzuddin. So people preferred calling him Sheru. He came to our chowl to stay with his maternal uncle. His maternal uncle who was one of the respected personalities in our chowl had his sofa making business. We came to know that Sheru, his brother Shamsher, his sister Sana and mother shifted to Pune because of his father’s death. Sheru father, people say, was a nice and hardworking chap. During 1991 Hindu-Muslim riot in Mumbai, his father was shot though his wasn’t the part of it. Some say that Sheru’s father was a drunk. I don’t know the reality.

Sheru and family stayed with their uncle. All three kids got admitted in a municipal corporation school. Gradually, we came to know about Sheru. Sheru and his brother Shamsher used to help his maternal uncle in sofa making and they were learning to make simple and designer sofas as well. Sheru used to tell us, “Haath me kuch na kuch kala chahiye. Education se paisa nahi milta. Kala se milta hai” (You should have at least a skill. Education doesn’t help much in earning money. Skill does.) In the morning Sheru and Shamsher would work with their uncle and in the afternoon they would go to school, and in the evening they would again join their uncle’s sofa making work. For people like us, who hardly had worked in childhood, Sheru and Shamsher soon earned a lot of sympathy from people in my locality.

I passed my class 10 board exams. Though people had huge expectations from me, I could only achieve 65%, and I took admission in Science stream, dreaming to be doctor. Sheru was a year younger than me. It had been three years, Sheru and family shifted to Pune, and Sheru proved his mettle in almost everything. From topping the class to winning prize in handwriting competition to earning money from selling his own-made sofas, he excelled in almost everything. (I was feeling a bit envious that time). The later year, Sheru passed his board exam and took admission in Science. I tried convincing him that Science wasn’t something we were good at, but in vain. I gave my previous year’s books to Sheru.

Sheru couldn’t complete his class 12 exam. God knows why. Later I came to know that he start working in MITCON, an organization that works towards computer literacy of masses. He learnt so many thing related to hardware and networking at Mitcon and was doing great. We still were in touch through Sunday cricket matches and time pass activities.

One morning, when I was having my boiled egg breakfast, we hear some noise and screams. My elder brother Ajay and I ran out of our house to see what had gone wrong. We went in the direction of the screaming women crowd that was standing exactly at the door of Sheru’s house. We shouldered them and went inside to see and got shock of our life. Sheru hanged himself with a nylon rope, but the houses in the slums are not so long, wide and tall, so his legs were touching on the ground. We somehow rescued him. Ajay slapped him hard. In that evening, we were told the reason for this act.

Sheru that time was hardly 19 years old, and his uncle had decided a girl for his marriage. Sheru hasn’t even seen that girl, and the previous day, the families had engagement ceremonies. Sheru wasn’t mentally ready. Moreover, he wasn’t ready because he still wanted to live his life like us, like getting up late on Sunday morning, going for trek, going to play cricket matches, getting tricked and tricking friends, etc. He was forced to marry that girl.

Anyways, Sheru got married. In a year’s time, he had a child. His life took a drastic turn. Sheru was still like us, a young boy, but a father, a responsible person.

Years passed. My busy schedule hardly made me realize that I too have some good friends in my chawl. I almost forgot Sheru until one Sunday morning …

I was on my way to my tuition classes. I took a halt in Kondhwa to eat some Poha and to have some tea. I was very much busy munching Poha while looking at the notifications in my mobile.

“Hi Bintya, how come you are here?”, came this familiar voice.

A man around 45 years old, long beard, wearing a white but unclean Pathani suit, and wearing the mullah cap giving me the hints about his religion.

For a moment I thought that he was talking to someone else.

“Arrey Bintya, I am talking to you.”

“I am sorry I didn’t recognize you”, I replied, and I actually hadn’t recognized this face behind this beard and cap.

“Your habit of pulling people’s leg hasn’t gone yet. I am Sheru. Have you forgotten me, your friend?”

Yes, it was Sheru, but a different one. The version which I never expected Sheru to be in. But to the reality, it was Sheru.

“You are a big man now. Just saw you coming down from car.”, Sheru continued. Having a car, according to Sheru, is a sign of you being a BIG MAN.

I ordered two cutting chai for us. After going down the childhood memory lane and giggling about them, I asked Sheru, “But why this beard and cap and a complete makeover?”

Sheru continued,

“Things went too far. The incident of my attempt of suicide and then getting married against my will made my life uncomfortable in our chawl. The constant fear of ‘what people will talk about me’ was haunting me like hell. I moved to Kondhwa. Initially, my wife’s parents supported me with job and finance, but after the birth of my first son, things became worst. I tried my hands everywhere in search of a suitable job. But in vain. Three years passed. I have three sons. Life is so unfair with us, Bintya. Even after passing my 12th standard exam, I couldn’t make my career in anything. So, I decided to stay in the masjid (mosque). I spent my days and nights there in the company of Allah. I found my spiritual way. Allah is now taking care of me”.

“And what about your wife and sons?” said I.

“Allah is taking care of them too.” replied Sheru.

“And how is that possible?” asked I.

“Mosque committee sometime pays me. Also, my wife father is also giving her monetary help.”

“That’s great” while saying this I wanted to sound sarcastic, but looking at Sheru’s face, I refused to be sarcastic.

“What about you Bintya? What is going on in your life?”, curiously he inquired.

I was in dilemma. What to tell him? The truth that my life is better than anyone’s life in our chawl as I have purchased a 2BHK flat, a Car, got married to a working class, ambitious woman, and have a cute little baby? But I feared that it might make him feel more miserable. Or lie something?

I decided to tell him the truth.

“You have always been a very talented and hardworking chap, Bintya. Success would always kiss your feet. People used to say and are still saying good things about you”, he said lowering his head as if something has bothered him as if my reality had made him dream that his present too would have been like mine.

“No Sheru”, I was waiting for him to say these words, “No. You are thinking wrong about the entire scene. I am still the same Bintya who used to work hard. Still, I have to get up early to go for my job in school, and then private tuition and then to music class. I reach home 9 in the night. I have my small family, and I cannot live without them. Living without family, and leaving them to live on their own is very easy. Living with them, seeing them happy and sharing their concerns is very difficult, and life is difficult, for everyone. Yes, for me too.”

I continued …

“You too were and are talented. Yes, I agree that certain events in your life made you lose all your hopes from life, but that doesn’t mean that life is over.”

We finished our tea. I had to take leave of Sheru.

“Sheru, shave that long grown beard, wear some nice decent clothes, and search for a job that would fetch you a decent salary. Running away from dreams is easy, chasing them is fun, challenging, but life is all about that. Go home, meet your family. Hug your sons and wife. Make them feel you are home forever. Like me and like all of us, you too belong to working class struggles.”

Sheru was listening to me quietly.

“But do you think anybody will give me any job?”

“This grown-up beard and religious attire hardly would fetch you a job. Our religious identity is not so important in this global village called the world. You will find a good job.”

On my way to home, I felt bad for my harsh advice to Sheru. I was constantly thinking that I should have given him some money. But how I can I give my hard earned money to someone who doesn’t even think of working for his family?

I don’t know what Sheru had done after that visit. I almost forgot him in my busy schedule.

I was in my chawl one Sunday afternoon. It is pleasure to be with your childhood friends, pulling their legs, and cracking jokes on them, remembering the fun we did in schools, etc.

Suddenly I felt someone tapping my back, I turned and was surprised. It was Sheru. He was looking completely different this time. Clean shave, no mullah cap, no pathani, but a simple shirt and pant. This time there was something in his eyes. They were full of hopes.

“I need a job. I want to work. Will you search a job for me? Any job would work. Will you search for a job for me, Bintya?”

— The End —

(P.S. Nitish Potphode sir wanted me to tell the readers what happened after this, but I feel sometimes, leaving the climax incomplete is more complete.)