That strange lesson

Their arrival was noisy. 

Early on a Sunday morning.  I was woken up from my slumber at an unearthly hour (for Sunday). Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I saw a young lady standing outside my doorstep. A couple of identical looking little boys in identical clothes were standing with her. Before I could say anything, she invited me for lunch on the same day, in a booming voice. She told me that she was my neighbor who was moving in today, there was a house-warming havan, pooja and lunch. I was seriously taken aback. No one walks in unannounced at a stranger’s doorstep and invites them for lunch there and then ! I invited her inside just to get to know her better. She followed me in my living room, the two boys following her. Then followed a real strange conversation. Strange, because she was talking in painfully broken English, jumbling up words, stumbling over basic grammar. Her voice was loud and sing-song. She insisted on speaking in broken English even when I spoke to her in Hindi. The meeting was not a success. I felt odd, having that conversation in my own living room. I declined her invitation politely, since I had other plans for the day. I think she took that as a rebuff and she left abruptly, her identical kids walking out with her. The behavior of the kids surprised me too. They were not your usual boys, inquisitive or excited. They looked scared and they were huddling with their mother, as if expecting something scary to occur anytime.

I dismissed the strange woman from my mind. However, in the coming days, I heard a lot about her. Neighbors complained that she fought with whoever she could find, in her loud, angry voice. I ignored the whispers, but I did keep a distance from her, which was not too difficult as I am usually very busy minding my own business. However, as it always happens, the kids of our locality would not leave her alone. They found her an easy prey, and would love to tease her endlessly. They would ring her doorbell and run away, doubling with laughter as she would come out and scream obscenities and shake her fist at them. They would make up stories about her and heckle the twins who refused to be friendly with them and ran scared.

One evening, when I arrived home, tired and weary, I was told by Alma that a huge fight had broken loose outside our door. Sitab and his buddies had rung her doorbell and run for their lives. She had managed to catch Sitab and had blown him up. Instead of feeling guilty, Sitab had laughed at her and corrected her grammar. She intended to meet me and give me a piece of her mind. Mercifully, she changed her mind and did not come over. I warned Sitab to stay away. And life went on.

But a month later, hell ensued again. This time, Sitab’s friend had rung her bell. She came out, like a volcano erupting and without caring to know who the culprit was, screamed at Sitab. When Sitab attempted to tell her that it was not him who had rung her bell, she only got more livid. A horrible argument took place. She decided aloud to meet me and tell me what a terrible son I have raised. 

Alma stood there, looking at me. I sat with my head in my hands, weary, exhausted and drained. Either I could wait for her to come over or I could just settle this just now. I thought for some time and then finally called Sitab. He came to me, looking angry and defiant. I started by first asking him exactly why this pack of boys that he belongs to, insists on teasing this poor woman and her scared twins ? He burst forth with stories, long stories justifying everything, ending with how she blames him - only him, even if he is not the culprit.

Finally, I got up. He looked at me, a bit unsure and a bit scared. ‘Where are you going ?’ He asked.

‘We are going. You and me. To the lady’s home.’ I was resolute.

He quietly followed me. I had ‘that look’ in my eyes, and he knew that I will not change my mind.

 We rang her doorbell. She answered it, with her twins in tow. On seeing us, she literally pushed us outside, complaining loudly. I could see that she did not wish to invite me inside. I politely interrupted her and told her firmly that we need to take this conversation inside, sit and work this out. She looked helpless for a while, but conceded finally.

On entering the home, we were taken aback. It was not the usual family home that we are so used to seeing. It was bare. No sofa, no paintings, no wall hangings. Just a run-down mattress on the floor, a few necessary things here and there. The walls reflected a mournful, silent aura. No warmth, no beauty, nothing that resembled a home, especially not a home where two small kids lived. I looked around, and then I saw Sitab looking around. The lady sat in front of us, the kids as usual, huddling with her. I looked into the kids’ eyes. There was fear and confusion in those large, round eyes. 

The lady started talking. She talked on and on. She talked about how everyone targets her, about how no one respects her, how no one wishes her well. I just let her. Yes, I let her take it all out, the anger, the frustration, even the helplessness. After some time, her voice softened till she became quiet.

I sensed Sitab sitting next to me, looking at the little boys in a bewildered way, then looking around at the bare home in a confused manner, and then finally looking at the lady in a sympathetic way.

Finally, I got up. I assured her that from this day on, Sitab will make sure that no one will ever bother her again. I looked at Sitab. He hung his head and nodded quietly. Then we left.

On our way home, I said ‘Sitab…I…”

He interrupted me abruptly  “Please don’t say anything. I am feeling so bad. So guilty.”

I looked into his eyes, and for the first time in his young life, I saw empathy. I held his hand. He squeezed my hand hard, as if trying to get a grip on conflicting emotions.

Things were smooth from that point onwards. Sitab did keep his promise. He would not let anyone tease her anymore. He guarded her home protectively, like a fierce puppy.

A few days back, I saw a pickup truck in front of her home. I was told that they are moving away. They left, without saying goodbye to us. They left, as suddenly and as mysteriously as they had arrived.

But I am grateful to them for teaching a valuable lesson to Sitab. To empathize. A lesson which will make a gentleman out of my boy.