He was sitting under an arch of the building in which I worked. He had before him bunches of tender coconuts, all so tender and green and soft enough to be shredded with a sharp knife that rested on a thick denim cloth. He would raise one leg so that his upper leg was horizontal, spread the thick cloth on his knee and shave off the husk of the tender coconuts with deft motions of his long knife. It was sharp enough to slice anything in a deft stroke of Pujari’s hand.
Every afternoon, I would descend in the creaking elevator, which had sliding doors, made of wood. Since Pujari had likened his life to an elevator, I somehow associated the elevator with him and riding in it was as if I was having a lazy conversation with Pujari. After getting down from the elevator, I would walk a few steps to his stall and have a tender coconut. Since I was also from Mangalore, he gave it to me for rupees seven though the going rate was rupees ten. First he would shave the bottom half of the coconut and then cut the hard shell in a neat ring and hand me the open end of the coconut. Then he would neatly incise the husk and fashion a spoon, and with the spoon, scoop out the tender meat of the coconut for me to eat.
?This is not our mangalore coconut,? I said one day.
?No, these are the ones that come from Kerala, our neighbouring state.?.. ?The taste is different.?
?Tell me, how did you come to Mumbai?? I asked him one day.
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I have seen good times and I have seen bad. Why make me go up and down like an elevator?..
?What to say, except that fate brought me here.?
?Did you run away from home??
?Yes,? he said with a wide and sincere grin. He had a handsome face. His eyes were wide-set and had the glint of humour.
?Why did you run away??
?Those days, I wanted to work. Appa (father) said I had to study and become a big man…a manager. Now I realise Appa was right?
?So you ran away.?
?Yes, when I failed the fifth standard.?
?Then you came to Mumbai and started the tender coconut business?? I prompted.
?No, it was not so easy. I washed dishes in a hotel and then became a waiter and saved enough money. Then I started this business.?
?So, you have been a tender coconut seller till now.?
?No, saar. This is a good business. In a day, I can make a thousand rupees at three rupees profit per coconut. I sleep here on the pavement. I don’t pay any rent.?
?Then, where is all the money??
?Long story, saar.?
?Tell me, I am interested.?
The afternoon was hot. I had to go back, ride the rickety elevator with the sliding doors made of wood to the second floor to my mundane office tasks. But the story that emerged, so slowly, so diffidently from Pujari’s mouth, riveted me to the spot. He was discreet now, whispering confidentially.
?You know Shetty, the owner of Saundarya bar? Now he has 10 bars, he is rich man?
?Yes.? … ?Well, he and I were friends. We would sleep on the pavement outside the West End Watch Company before he became rich?
?Oh, really!?
?I really prospered in my coconut business and he used to come and borrow money from me. He said he would set me up in the hotel business. He did. He got me the permission to start hotel Vandana. Do you know hotel Vandana? I started that hotel.? Hotel Vandana was a narrow and dingy eating joint and I had feasted in its dark interiors on hot fish curry. I nodded.
?I was doing very well then. It was like I was ascending to the topmost floor on my elevator at that time. I had money. I had everything. Then my friend left me to become a hotel union leader. I was left without a godfather in this city. In this big city, you need a godfather for everything. Then the police harassment started. It was like riding the elevator down the floors then.?
?Why did the police harass you? What did you do??
?They jailed me for a month saying I was running a prostitution racket. A few prostitutes may have come there to eat. How could I refuse them? After all, they are also human beings. They may have talked to a few people inside. That doesn’t mean I am in their racket. In the hotel business, you can’t deny anyone who is hungry, can you? It is business.?
?Yes, I mean, no.?
?Then I sold the hotel to a friend from my village and I was again down like an elevator to the ground floor.? I chuckled. His reference to the elevator was quite funny. He said it with a shake of the head, a wide gesture with the hands and a laugh like a snort. His face crinkled into creases and I too got carried away in the waves of laughter it set off.
?Then I started the tender coconut business again,? he said when we had finished laughing, ?It is such a lovely business. I love this business. It breaks my heart to peel these tender green children of mine. After all, which fruit offers water to quench the thirst and food to satiate hunger? Which one? Tell me. Yes, they are my children. I sacrifice my children for the thirsty and hungry. I have nobody in this city. Not even a dog to wag its tail at me.?
I thought for a moment and said, ?No. None other than coconut.? He nodded. In the evening, when I descended the same elevator, the tender coconut seller was nowhere to be seen. The next afternoon also he wasn’t there and in his place was a young boy doing his work. I bought a tender coconut from the boy who seemed lost in a world of his own. I didn’t ask him who he was or where Pujari, friend of Shetty, had disappeared. The next day, I overcame my hesitation and asked the boy where Pujari was.
?Didn’t you hear? He had an accident and was admitted to St. George Hospital.?
?Who are you??
?I am his nephew. I am looking after his business till he is well again.?
The next day, I took special permission from my office to visit a ?relative? in St. George Hospital and made it to the hospital. I took the elevator to the top floor of the hospital to find Pujari resting in a largish ward with a roof so high that it could have accommodated three floors of a modern housing flat. There, on one of these cots, dwarfed by the tall walls, which tapered into the roof above in huge criss-crossing beams and rafters, lay Pujari. His face had lost its cheerfulness and looked haggard. A sheet was drawn over him and he was propped up against a single pillow. The sheet was of coarse cotton cloth, which looked pale yellow with much washing and rubbing against the washing stone.
?So Pujari, what happened? I didn’t see you and asked your nephew what happened.?
?Yes, friend. It was a tragic accident. I closed my shop and was crossing the road to go to the Republic toilet to urinate. Suddenly, this taxi came out of nowhere, knocked me down and ran over my hand. I cried for help, but nobody came. Do these people have a heart? I lay there writhing in pain and I said, ?Rama, take my life if that is what you want. I don’t want to live. Why make me suffer like this? I have seen good times and I have seen bad. Why make me go up and down like an elevator?? Then, my friend Azhar, who has a business selling and repairing cameras, saw me and got me admitted in this wretched hospital. At night, the bugs come out and suck the blood and life out of me. What can I do? I can’t even get up. I cry again to Rama, “Take me away, don’t let me suffer like this.”
“Pujari, you will be okay. Don’t worry. They will take care of you. If you need any money, I can help.”
“Help? I don’t want charity. What will I do without my business?”
He is a proud man, he won’t accept charity, I thought.
“What happened to your business? You nephew is taking care of it, isn’t he?”
“I will never be able to shave tender coconut again,” he said tearfully. His handsome face distorted into creases of agony and the tears streamed down his unshaven face.
“I will never be able to run my tender coconut business again. Serves me right for hurting all those tender children of mine,” he repeated.
“Why?” With one hand, he removed the sheet that covered him. I recoiled at the sight I saw. I was staring at a stump that was once his hand. As I descended in the smooth, large elevator that didn’t creak like the one at my office building, I wondered life infact is an Elevator….
Author: Jeevan Pinto- USA
