Kashmir to Kanyakumari, India is one
The profoundest philosophy can be found on truck plates! Yes, of course. I often recall the humble yet deep reflection of life in simple words, “Milega muqaddar (Will get what’s destined)”. You can tangent-shoot from this expression into so many aspects of life yet the bottomline remains precisely that. Another intriguing expression is, “Kashmir to Kanyakumari, India is one”.
It is the spirit of a simple truck driver who traverses the diversity of the country, with the binding thread of this philosophy. Recently, I too experienced the sincerity in this sentiment. Our younger daughter, done with her MBBS, was seeking admission to MD, paediatrics. Like all parents, we too moved like the monsoon, from one state to another, in search of a suitable college for her. The first halt was at Faridkot as Baba Farid University holds the counselling there.
Being a home territory, there was no unrest as such. Braving the long queues, passing encouraging smiles to anxiety-ridden applicants, exchanging pleasantries with worried parents, two fruitless days passed. The quotas had shrunk the number of general seats. So, most of the young graduates were bearing the brunt of being denied a seat, in spite of having cleared the basic requisite in the form of the National Eligibility cum Entrance Test (NEET). “No worries,” I told my daughter, “we will come for the second counselling.” A few students were opting for other states as there were more seats available there. I prodded her on and she applied in Karnataka.
After the family’s apprehensions regarding distance were settled, we landed in Bangalore on the D-day. For a minute, I regretted the foolhardiness of our decision. It was unfamiliar territory. There was a language issue, food issue, among the rest. Of course, English unites us Hindustanis beautifully. There you call out to a stranger for help, saying Anna and he will halt in his steps and stay on to hammer out your problem as bystanders are treated to a Kannada-English- Hindi-Punjabi cocktail. Here you hear the word anna (blind) spewed like venom at a careless driver in a road rage.
Since there was a lot of documentation formality, I left my daughter in the queue to run about getting papers xeroxed, downloaded, notified and what not! The time was almost up in the administrative office and an important document had still not arrived from my husband’s office. I pleaded with the officer to wait for some more time as I rushed out to the nearby shop to check the mail. Having finished the download, I held out a ₹500 note as the amount due was ₹118. He pulled the ₹100 from my other hand and began humming something about ₹18. Telling him, I’d be back I rushed out to the office. The photostat man followed me, uttering some inane stuff. I was mentally ruing the fact that in Punjab, some boisterous shopkeeper would have brushed off the amount saying “Oh chaddo bhainji 18 rupaye (Keep the change)!”
Here this poker-faced guy followed me half way back. Once done with the office work, I heaved a sigh of relief. The first thing was to settle the dues at the photostat shop. As I procured the change and entered the shop, the poker face pointed me to the owner. I handed out the money, which the owner laughingly refused, saying he had put money from his own pocket, sensing the admission crisis. “He was telling you to forget the small amount, go do your work. You never understood him,” the owner said.
See indeed Kashmir to Kanyakumari, India is one! Leaving our daughter in the new place was not such a worrying issue anymore. It suddenly felt like home!
WHEN WE LANDED IN BANGALORE, FOR A MINUTE, I REGRETTED THE FOOLHARDINESS OF OUR DECISION. IT WAS UNFAMILIAR TERRITORY. THERE WERE LANGUAGE, FOOD ISSUES. BUT OF COURSE, ENGLISH UNITES US HINDUSTANIS BEAUTIFULLY