... And one day the God suddenly decided to stop writing his story.
Its the story of a man made up of grit and determination, its the story of a man who, like phoenix, rose from his ashes- rejuvenating not just himself but everyone around, its the story of a man who was more misunderstood than he worked hard and understood, its the story of an unsung hero, its the story of Uncle Ameria ... Madhav Lal Ameria.
How long can you fall, rise, fall and rise again? One day? Two days? One week? One year? More than fifty years!! Uncle Ameria, as I fondly called him, lived a life of upheavals for more than fifty years, not for himself but for others.
Dickensian childhood
Born in a very modest family on May 6th, sometime in 1950s, Uncle Ameria must have had been easily cut above the rest as a young kid. I never saw him as a child but I could see his turbulent childhood in his wide eyes at the age of 50. The eyes were tired yet passionate, they were critical yet so compassionate, had seen more struggle than success, they had witnessed the death of his father (Giriraj) when he was in playful childhood.
His father was a railway employee in Bharatpur- the dustbowl of Rajasthan. After the death of Uncle Ameria's father, the onus of bringing up the kids fell on his mother's (Misri Devi) shoulders. She was the station master at the Bharatpur railway station and was called Jhanday Wali, for her job was to show flag to the passing trains.
Uncle Ameria grew up in this kind of background, where the existance must have been hand-to-mouth. All this impacted young and emotional Uncle Ameria.
It goes without saying about him that the sparks can't get whimped down so easily. Uncle Ameria struggled his way to high school and onto college. And a day came, when the son of Jhanday Wali became an engineer.
To be very frank and honest to you all, I don't know how his life would have been in his youth but am sure, it must have had been more for others than for himself.
One day Uncle Ameria entered into a threshold of another life as he got married. And began another journey. Soon the family expanded and so did the dreams of Uncle Ameria. His main aim in life was to get his two children the best of education. He would work day and night and at the end of the month, used to hide his salary in his socks because the robbers on the way used to loot the travellers. For the betterment of his children, he left his nest in Rajastan and moved to New Delhi.
Successful yet empty
I first met Uncle Ameria on October 7, 2001. It was Sunday and he was at home. My first image of him is still etched in my memory. He was working and troubleshooting the computer in his house. Wearing the tiny reading glasses, Uncle Ameria was too busy to have had realised that somebody had rang the bell of his house. Such was his passion and insight. His face was down, so I could barely see his face.
After a while he entered the drawing room and greeted me warmly. Soon I found myself standing in front of a young, ebullient personality- which appeared larger than life. He was almost 6 feet, broad forehead, bushy eyebrows, big eyes. He was very easily more active and switched-on than his 25-year old son. We all dined together. After we got through, he drove 10-kms to drop me home.
He had a very decent living then- he had everything. But you scratch a bit and you could see a rusted base. He had left a cushy job abroad, moved back to India with his growing children, had to face some troubles on other fronts too. When a person is in trouble, his luck and friends leave him alone. There are only rare few who get support- more moral than financial. Uncle Ameria wasn't that lucky. He faced, braved and faught all that alone.
Dreams shatter
One day, he had to part ways with this occasional happiness unceremoniously. He remained dignified.. He rose again.
I observed how all this had made him distanced himself from everyone, including from himself. It seemd to me that the man would smile but not from the heart, he would feel happy but it didn't reflect and reach in his eyes.
My last meeting with him
While all this was going on, when he was lonely in the crowd, I went to his house. It was my last visit to his house, I saw him last then.
I still remember, it was March 9, 2003. He was too tired and perhaps too interestless to come and meet me. As I left their house and the family came to see me off, I gathered courage and peeped inside a room where he was there. He was sleeping and looked like a hermit in meditation. I filled my eyes with his glance. Somewhere in my mind, in my subconsciousness, I dont know how I knew that I was seeing him one last time.
I spoke to him over the phone twice after that. In one of my last conversations I asked him how he was, to which he stoically replied "Bas beta, jee rahay hain duniya daari mein" (Just living in the formality of worldliness). I could sense there was a storm growing in him but he was mum. It was dangerous. He had seen so much in his life that he was keeping a dignified silence.
And then came a cruel day. April 22-23, 2006.
Uncle Ameria slept at night, never to wake up again, never to rise again from his ashes.
He never troubled anyone in his lifetime and death. His transition to the another world was instant and sudden. Just like the failures and shocks had been to him when he was alive.
Today his children are well settled. Am not in touch with the family but I can feel that he is watching me from up above, peeping from the stars, witnessing my success, happiness and achievements and smiling.
Am sure, he has given enough to his children that they can't even reciprocate to him. Yet the man remains unspoken of- like an unsung hero, who lived for others, way beyond the formality of worldliness.
Oh! Dear Dervish, come here, sit you by me,
He has often looked back on life
