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At 21, I joined IIT KGP as a junior faculty on May 1, 1965. I was allotted a Single Room in the B. C. Roy Hall. Within a few hours, there was a discreet knock on my door. And there was a young lad my age. From then on, practically every Saturday, there would be the same discreet knock till I left KGP on October 26, 2005 upon retirement at 62 from a divinely spacious Qrs. B-140. I was by then a grey-haired eminence with a son just out of IIT; and he was a completely bald grandpa.
The lad Rasoi Lal came from an extended family of about 200 KGP Dhobis from Bihar, all settled in their spacious Dhobi Ghat. They all had sweet names like Chaman Lal, Mithai Lal, Mothi Lal et al. Rasoi Lal was reticent, boy and man. He would enter, bend down on his knees, deliver and receive clothes, and go away. By and by, we grew on each other and would miss very much when we didn’t meet on a weekend.
Once I asked him why a certain Bapujee of Congress was elected repeatedly from their Ward in the Left Bastion of West Bengal. He replied that everyone there regarded Bapujee as their own father. Bapujee would visit the Dhobi Ghat once a month without fail, take his seat on a charpai and call up Rasoi Lal to listen to and address their problems like Ration Cards (very precious in W. Bengal). I asked Rasoi why he alone would be asked to represent his vast community. Rasoi replied shyly that he was the only Dhobi who didn’t smoke or drink, and could just about read and write.
After a decade, Rasoi told me that he got his son Swapan (the Lal thing has been discarded) admitted to the Railway School. I asked him how he could manage such a feat (the reputed School was reserved for kids of Railway Employees). He replied that Bapujee helped.
After another decade, Rasoi said he would no more be taking new customers, because he got a job in the Railways as a Khalasi. I looked askance, knowing that he didn’t have the mandatory schooling. He smiled and replied that Bapujee helped. Then on, often when I visited the Railway Station, he would locate me with a long smiling hooked iron rod in his hands. He would declare proudly that his job was to inspect the Brakes, hinting that thousands of lives depended on his alertness and efficiency.
After another decade, he declared that Swapan got a job in the Railways as a Clerk of sorts. He smiled once again and said that Bapujee helped. Besides, Swapan was working as an odd-jobs youngster in the Qrs of the Big Boss of the sprawling Railway Workshop.
Very soon, Swapan got married to Guddi, an M.A. in Hindi. We were invited to the fabulous wedding where Rasoi was the proud Big Dad. By then the Rasoi Lal family had their ‘own’ home in the Dhobi Ghat, built on thrift and good habits. Guddi got a job as a Hindi Teacher in the Railway School. I need not have asked….. Bapujee was still the MLA.
By the time I left KGP, Rasoi, Swapan and Guddi purchased land and built their home-sweet-home in the ‘posh’ Chota Tengra area (I was still renting the Qrs). I asked Rasoi how many years he had left before he retired. He replied 10 more years. I was aghast. He would be 72 by then, like me. I winked at him and asked if it was due to Bapujee. He bent his head down and smiled.
Rasoi was there the day my truck left our Qrs, loaded with all the goods I had acquired in 40 years. He was unusually sad, moody and doleful. He threatened he wouldn’t let the truck leave till I gave away my first ramshackle cot as a memento. I was touched; and hugged him: did I smell something at that close distance? I was pained beyond grief.
A couple of years later, my son got married and wanted to show off IIT KGP where he grew up to his brand new wife. He told me he booked their tickets by Second AC in the Falaknuma Superfast Express. I put my foot down and insisted they fly. I had a frightful Vision of a sozzled and faltering Rasoi Lal trying hard to find the Brakes with his rusted iron rod.
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