असतात काही काही अशी मानसं (Such people do exist.)

The following real life experience goes back 40 years. It has been ingrained in my mind and my soul.

***I would like to mention that I have not changed anything, but I have taken the liberty to provide a voice (words) to the unspoken.

My father and his friend had planned a family visit to a place of pilgrimage in Aurangabad (Maharashtra). They had decided to take a train from Mumbai to the city. My father had done the ticket bookings. Both the families waited for the train to arrive. When it did, people ran with their kids and baggage toward the train.

Our two families did the same. If memory serves me right, my younger brother and I had run to the other door, which was sparsely crowded. And we got in first. We had already placed our bags on our seats so that others wouldn’t claim them. I had even climbed onto an upper berth, which we had booked. Once we settled down in our seats, the train began its journey.

We stayed in Aurangabad for a couple of days. We visited the pilgrimage temple. We sought blessings from God. Then visited the Bibi Ka Maqbara. We were six kids. And we had lots of fun. We had visited other places, which I don’t remember. But the return journey was life-changing.

I found it strange that my dad had asked us to pack up and leave early for the railway station. We were at the station half an hour early. And the announcer shared that the train was on schedule. But my dad was pacing the platform. He would go up and down once, and then stare at an entry gate. He did that several times. So, I ran up to him.

“What is it, dad?”

“It’s nothing,” dad said.

I stood still and watched him pace the platform once again. He walked back to me. He stopped. He checked out the people walking into the station. I thought he was waiting for someone.

“Dad, are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes,” dad said.

“Who is he? Someone you know?” I asked.

“No, just an acquaintance.”

He turned toward the platform. And he stared at a man.

The man wore a simple white kurta and dark pants. He had a mustache and a beard. The man came up to my dad and stopped. They just looked at each other for a while.

“Have you got them, Karim?” dad asked.

“Yes, I have,” Karim said, putting a hand in his pocket.

He handed my father the train tickets. My dad gave him the money. He took it and touched the notes to his forehead.

“I’ll take your leave,” Karim said, and walked away.

I was surprised by this exchange.

“Dad, what was that all about?” I asked.

“I had asked him to book our return tickets,” my dad said.

“But he’s a…”

My dad looked down at me sharply.

“Trust is greater than religion,” he said.

I looked up at him. He didn’t say another word. He didn't have to.

Then he put an arm around me and walked me back to our luggage.

And he said, ”असतात काही काही अशी मानसं.” (Such people do exist.)