Kirana Shop Uncle

I sincerely believe that the most impactful moments in your life are the ones which quietly sneak up to you.

And you may ask, what exactly reminds them of you?

An old tune or an aquainted scent is enough for them to latch on to it.

Before you know it, you are living in your very own deja vu. 

This story is about the Kirana shop uncle who turned out to be the sneakiest of those memories for me.

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Afternoons were the least favourite part of my day. When I say that there was absolutely nothing good about them, it comes from every corner of my heart. All the kids were sweaty, tired and hungry. This was the time we came back from school, and most of us had tuition classes shortly after.

I am a proud member of a typical Indian family where tuition classes were obviously more important than school. Therefore, missing them was equivalent to committing a mortal sin for my seven-year-old self. 

My Nani (maternal grandmother) helping me get ready and dropping me off at that centre of hell had become a daily routine for me.

Bahadur, a known rickshaw driver was our ride to misery. Every day we used to hear the rickshaw bell ring at exactly 2:30pm, signalling that it was time for me to give up all hope.

He wasn't obliged to wait for us, but I don't remember a single day when he wasn't there. Bahadur was young, in his mid-40s and once told us that he never wanted to drive rickshaws. He wanted to become an IAS officer (Government officer), but when his father passed away unexpectedly, he had to bear the brunt of his family. Since he didn't have the money to go to college and had six other family members to provide for, he gave up his dream instead. Bahadur's wife used to clean houses while his aged mother ironed clothes for the people in the city. He had four kids who were still in school, but by now, they had learned to live by themselves.

 "Madam ji, sirf aap hee hai jo thoda pyaar se baat karte hai. Isliye main aa jata hu.", 

(Madam, you are the only one who talks to me with decency. That's why I come here every day.)

Even as a kid, I used to observe how rickshaw drivers were not treated with a lot of kindness. They were given all sorts of names and asked to leave the metro as they supposedly didn't "belong" there. 

As I was sitting in the rickshaw with my Nani, I was thinking of the Kirana uncle. It was time for me to wave to him hello. As we took the first right to the main market street, I spotted the familiar convenience shop. We have a lot of those in India, and you'll be surprised that they carry items you wouldn't expect! This tiny shop had items from chips, toffees, fruities (sweet mango drinks), bread, milk, tic tacs to, toothbrushes, badminton rackets, little plastic toys, gloves, and even cleaning supplies! In a way, they worked like micro mini Walmarts as they usually sold all those things at a really low price too. The locals called these shops by a special name- Kirane ki dukaan or Kirana shops.

Irrespective of how grumpy I was, it was my little rickshaw routine to wave the Kirana shop uncle hello on my way to the tuition classes. While coming back, it was customary for me to stop there and get a packet of chips and a bottle of fruity. This was the happy part of my afternoons. 

"Hello uncle! Aap please ek green lays aur fruity pack kar do" 

(Hi uncle! Can you please pack some green lays and a fruity?)

Uncle used to take off his huge square-rimmed glasses and gruffly say, "Meine already ready rakha hai!" (I have it ready already!)

I don't remember uncle's face anymore, but I remember he had black spots on his brown skin. Nani used to tell me that they were burn marks, but for some reason, I couldn't imagine uncle without them. I was too young to understand what those scars meant.

Once I skipped my tuition class but insisted my Nani take me to the Kirana shop anyways. As I walked inside, the store filled with a comforting aroma of rose and cinnamon. I smiled, thinking of how perfect the day turned out to be. 

But you know good things don't last long, right? Keeping up with that, there was a loud pop. And that, my friends, was my bubble of joy. 

Uncle looked at me and asked why I didn't go for my tuition that day and told me he liked to wave at me from the rickshaw and not like this. For the first time, he looked disappointed. Disappointed in me...

My face turned red, and I hid behind my Nani.

"Study hard, or you'll end up like me. Okay?" he said while he packed all my stuff in his handmade newspaper bags. 

Although running a Kirana shop didn't seem like a bad idea at that time, I still nodded and walked back home with my Nani. 

I had chips, fruity, no tuition, and the new Doraemon movie had come out! Life couldn't be better. However, I couldn't help but feel a little melancholy. That's when I noticed uncle had packed two extra toffees for me that day...

This was my routine for five full years, after which I left my tuition classes in Grade 6. My mom explained how I needed specialized tuition for higher classes. 

It turned out to be the first big change for me.

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On October 24th 2014, when I left my tuition classes for the last time, something felt wrong. There was a strange emptiness within me as I sat in the back seat and watched the venerable green-painted house with its armoured black fence become smaller and smaller. For a while, I was quiet, and then I cried. 

I cried like I had lost something really precious to me. Something that was an important part of my day. Something that I would miss. 

It was uncomfortable to think how I'd never hear the rickshaw bell ring again at 2:30pm. I also remember not understanding why I was feeling so terrible about this when I never liked going there in the first place...

That day, my mom took me to the Kirana shop again but I didn't feel like stepping out. I preferred to stay inside.

Little did I know that I wouldn't be seeing those square-rimmed glasses for a long time. 

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As the new school year started, I started going to another tuition centre and, somehow, completely forgot about the Kirana uncle. Maybe it was because we had a long summer vacation gap in between or the fact that we had changed houses. Now, an entirely new routine was in place, with my sister starting school as well. 

It was time for my sister to attend the same tuition centre. As I went to drop her inside for the very first time, something churned inside my stomach. Somehow, the big black door didn't seem daunting anymore.

Had it been seven years already?

Almost immediately, my eyes fell on her who was now too weak and too pale. Her luscious black hair were now covered with countless strands of grey.

Was she always this old? 

Looking around the study, I noticed how the long oak table still had my scribbles on its feet but the faces above were completely new. 

How do you describe being in a place which you once called your own and yet feeling like a complete stranger? 

It's how you feel when you come home after a while and realize that the real outsider is no one but you. 

 

Using her stick, she got up and gave me a warm hug. "You've grown so tall!"

As we broke apart, I wasn't sure if I saw her eyes sparkle or tear up but it was definitely the moment that I burst into tears. This was also the moment where all my coolness went flying out the window in front of little kids. 

She hugged me again and laughed quite loud.

 Why was she laughing?

"This happens with the kids I love the most. I knew you'd come around. "

I looked away and said, "I am sorry that I didn't get to say goodbye."

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On our way back home, Bahadur stopped at an all too familiar corner and gently asked, "Madam ji, aaj chips nahi lene?"

(Madam, don't you want to buy chips today?)

As a deep realization sunk in, I turned to my right and stepped out of the rickshaw. 

Uncle looked at me, took off his glasses and stood up for his big blue plastic chair.

Believe it or not, I had never him stand! 

He was really tall! Definitely, taller than I thought! 

But he was bald now. 

He also talked slower. Politer.

Does he recognize me at all? 

That's when I had another realization, I didn't even know his name! I just knew him as the Kirana shop uncle.

He took a few short steps, bended down and picked up a newspaper bag. And just like it was yesterday, he packed for me some green lays and a mango fruity.

"Meine already ready rakha hai!", he said slowly and gave me his most heartwarming smile.

(I have it ready already!)

I teared up for the second time that day and asked him how he remembered me after all these years.

"Aapke liye toh lunch time dukaan khuli rakhta tha. Uss din ke baad, meine kabhi dukaan lunch ke liye band hee nahi kari"

(It was because of you that I kept my shop open during the lunch hour. After that day, I never closed my shop for lunch)

I felt a heavy pang of guilt when I felt my sister hide behind me. 

I was a part of his routine too. 

He gave my sister two free toffees this time and we continued this tradition for the next couple of years after which the uncle passed away. I got to know much later that his name was Kishore. 

His son has now taken over his shop. He made new changes to it and expanded it a little more. Now, the shop has video games, some electronics and even some expensive cutlery.

My sister has now transitioned to middle school and I moved abroad where there is an Indian grocery store near my house. 

This grocery store is more expensive and a little too organized for my liking.

Even so, whenever I buy fruity or rose incense sticks, I think of him. 

The Kirana shop uncle who never forgot to wave me hello.

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