It was a very busy weekend, markets were overcrowded. People were shopping, bargaining with shopkeepers, carrying lots of bags, some were wandering just to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the surroundings.
"Why is the market so crowded? Is there any occasion coming up?" Kabir asked the shopkeeper.
"Yes, Ullambana is coming up. Everyone seems so excited. Right?. Festivals are the times when the market is alive with its full glory and especially about Ullambana. People here actually wait for this day to arrive. It is believed that the doors of another world, the world of dead and departed, open on this day. The spirits of the deceased come down in the world of living to meet their close ones. Homes are decorated with flower petals. The whole family eats together and offerings are made for the soul of their lost loved ones.
Whatever the soul of their dear ones loved when they were alive are then offered to them as a welcome gift. Those who loved cigarettes are offered packs of those, the ones who died as kids are offered the toys they liked the most or the sweets they loved. People remember those who are gone and cherish their memories. It's a very beautiful festival." Said the old man as he prepared tea for Kabir with the same perfection and experience as he has been doing for a long time now.
Festivals are tiring but are also good for business. The demand for tea booms during this time. Shopkeepers need tea to keep themselves fresh and work non stop like horses and they need it to impress and take care of their customers so they buy more and more items from them.
Tea was ready and the old man lined up glasses on the tray.
"Can we remember those who are not dead but are still not with us, if it's not against rituals?" Kabir asked. He used to love festivals. And the most he loved about them was the way each one was celebrated in his family. Mother used to cook many delicious dishes, father used to buy clothes and gifts for everyone and grandma used to tell stories, friends used to go to each other's house and exchange gifts and sweets. Festivals are like that, they take you back to your home and give us our reason to celebrate.
"If they are alive, can't you just go and tell them how much you love them? Everyone likes to hear how special they are to someone"
"I want to go to them too but if I do, I'll have to stay there. I don't want to stay there forever and live my whole life working in farm and field." Kabir's voice filled with sadness and disappointment "I can't go back now. I have left that road long behind me."
The old man looked at the boy with his head bowed a little and eyes wet. "Go serve these glasses and tell the old man from that flower shop to stop breaking the cups." The old man handed the tray to Kabir.
As he went, the old man sighed, thinking about Azaan and hoping him to fine. Last year, on Ullamban, Azaan decorated his home, he went like crazy bringing flowers, painting his home. He bought toys and new clothes for himself and the baby and Saira. He spent the whole day talking to thin air and even introduced it to the old man as Saira. He was acting like a maniac the whole day and thought that his love has escaped death to come back to him but as the day passed and the doors for the spirits were closing and they had to return, he was screaming and crying loudly, yelling and cursing his wife for leaving him again. He broke the furniture and burned all the clothes and toys he bought and ruined the house. He drank to the point of death that night. That was a terrible night.
The old man lit his cigarette and said"I hope this year Azaan could make peace with everything he has been through."
"Why hasn't Azaan came to say sorry?" Kabir thought as he was on his way. "Is he okay? I think I should visit him someday just to check if everything is fine. He has been through a lot."
"But that guy is arrogant and egoistic. He threw me out of his house and for what? Just because I was asking if he was okay. He did this to himself."
"But then he is my friend and he is alone. Maybe he needs me and he can't reach out. Shouldn't I reach out to him instead?"
"I have friends too and I never trashed anyone who cared for me. If he is alone, that's because he threw everyone out of his house and his life. Everyone who cared about him was distanced by him. He deserves this. He should come himself and apologize. I can't let him trash me like that. I have self-respect too. I will never go to him. He is not my friend anymore.
The old man and Kabir became silent for a while on their way back home.
"We will have to stop by at the glass store first. I have to buy new glasses again. In a market, it is hard to keep track of cups. Doesn't matter how strict I am with those shopkeepers, glasses are still lost and broken. This is a major loss in this business."
"Why don't you use clay cups then? They are called kulhad in my village. Does not feel very hot to hold and I feel that tea tastes better in those cups. They are one-time use so it will save you from the trouble of washing and keeping a track of them too."
"That will cost me more. Kulhads cannot be reused and so I'll have to buy that many every day. It will ultimately me cost more even though I know that a single glass is much more expensive than a kulhad."
"Why don't you hire someone who makes clay cups just for you? People prefer these clay cups in my village. Maybe people will like it here too. It can attract people more to your shops because it is unique."
"We don't have anyone in this village who makes cups of clay. All the clay made materials like vases and artefacts are brought here from other villages and then sold. It will be very hard to find someone who is dedicated to that job at a Budget that I can afford."
"I know how to make clay cups. It's not that hard, I can make them for you." Said Kabir after a long pause. There was a Kumar in Kabir's village. He belonged to a lower caste and so, Kabir's mother used to scold Kabir for hanging out with him but it never mattered to him. Also, Kabir loved how he knew the art to turn a heap of clay into those beautiful shapes. He taught Kabir how to make vases and pots of clay soil. Kabir felt it soothing to make shapes out of the sands and so learned fast. Making kulhads was like a piece of cake for him.
The old man stayed quiet, still walking towards that glass shop. Kabir felt stupid. The old man was letting him stay at his home and now he has annoyed him.
"What do you need to make those cups?"
Kabir felt relieved on hearing those words. "It's just clay soil, we can get that from the riverbank, and a rotating wheel and furnace or something to dry the clay."
"Get whatever you need. You take care of all the material, just tell me how much it will cost. You can make cups for me and I'll pay you. You can use the money to go wherever you want to go. Is that a fair deal?"
"Yes. Sure sure…..yes I'll work for you." Kabir could feel a gush of excitement in his vessels. He doesn't need to worry about the job and money and rejoiced that a little thing that he learned just for fun from his friend was so useful now.
"Okay then, I'll buy half the glasses I need. If things work out the way we want, then we will increase kulhad production."
After two days Kabir had everything he needed, a rotating wheel, mud and furnace. Finally kabir had a job and soon he will have all the money he need to move ahead towards his dream. The production started well, Kabir was making sufficient kulhads without any problem and the plan was working too. Kulhads were cheap, disposable so there was no issue of hygiene, people were more attracted to kulhads than they were to tea.
Evening twilight was vanishing as the sun was disappearing and only a rim was left to see of that mighty being. Market was closing too, it was ullambana the next day. Kabir and the old man sat on the seat, having cup of tea they saved for themselves after a lousy but satisfying day. It was the third day of Kabir making those kulhads and they were proving to be more convenient.
"you should make those cups more and maybe with some designs. People were asking me if those were for sale. Some even asked me if I have vases for flowers. Maybe you should try making other things too."
kabir nodded with a smile. "Yeah I was thinking about that too. You told me that there is not much supply of these things. We could increase supply and that would be much cheaper. This may increase the demand too."
The man nodded with appreciation for the kid "you have brain for business. You remind me quite a lot of Azaan."
kabir said nothing.
The old man whispered to himself "I hope he is doing okay"
"Kabir you go home. I have to go somewhere first." Said the man as he handed Kabir the key.
kabir straight away went to his bed as he reached home. "I am nothing like that man. I have left my home. I miss my family too and still I work hard to earn. I don't make excuses and drink all day and scream at others. I'm nothing like that drunkard pathetic man." Kabir sighed. "It was a very busy day."
Kabir woke up, to the sunshine falling in his face, smiling as he walked out of his bed to outside. A grey haired man sitting on the floor with his hands on his head, covering his eyes. He was crying. Crying hard as if he woke up from the worst nightmare.
"what happened old man? Hey.. get up sir. What happened to you?"
The hands were taken away from the head, revealing red eyes like they were shedding tears that weren't even there. Eyes full of sorrow and loss. The old man looked at the innocent concerned face of Kabir.
"Azaan is dead."