Manju (name changed) is a young man. He lives not far from our home. He is like the millions of young men and women whose earnings were cruelly hit by the pandemic.
With the remarkable resilience of most of these people with no regular job, Manju turned to supplying flowers to supplement his income from sundry jobs. He comes early in the morning, carrying flowers for residents of our residential complex for their pujas.
We do not perform puja at home and observe minimal ritual, so we do not buy Manju’s flowers. But we have often been meeting him when returning from our morning walk, and speaking with him briefly. My wife, Asha, has always remarked to me about his cheer and warm smile.
Manju always smiles and greets us respectfully, says namaskara and raises his hands to the Namaste position, depending on the size of the packages of flowers he is carrying.
Perhaps our age — early eighties and late seventies — would evoke such respect, but Manju is different; he is special. Considering that he has a young family and would certainly have financial problems, we, who live so comfortably, have so much to learn from Manju and his ilk.
Manju brings around fragrant mallige, parijata, aakash mallige and roses, to householders who appreciate his initiative, because it saves them from having to leave their homes to buy flowers. The roses he brings are small, pretty, red blooms with short stalks, suitable for placing in the prayer thali.
This morning, returning from our walk, we were waiting for the elevator to come down to the ground floor. The door opened, and Manju emerged with both his arms occupied with packages of flowers. As always, he smiled and said namaskara, and we responded warmly. But when he raised his hands to do namaste, small roses fell out of one package.
Asha said, “Oh!”, and bent down to pick them up. Manju put down his load of flowers, and hurried to help her. When he got the 10-odd roses together in his hands, he went to throw them into the nearby garbage can. Asha stopped him, and asked why he was throwing them away.
Manju responded: “Amma, these flowers are for puja, and I cannot give them after they have fallen on the floor.”
Manju’s professional integrity and his honesty was amazing. Asha said, “Give them to me, instead of throwing them away,” and took them from his hands into her own hands, and I offered to pay for them.
Manju again amazed us, saying: “These were meant for puja, became unsuitable for puja because of my carelessness, and I cannot accept money for them.”
Back home, Asha placed the roses in a shallow dish with water, and placed it on our centre table, and we remembered our educative encounter with Manju. Amid the humongous dishonesty and corruption which we witness daily, Manju is a ray of light and hope. We know that our country has many, many more Manju-like young men and women, and we pray for them, the light and hope for our country.
sg9kere@live.com
