Part – 2 “Integrity”

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My coffee house was bursting with activity as the clock struck 5.The Sydney sun was fading away ever so quietly prompting the night to drown the city in its existence. I wondered if I should call up my father back in India. He had not been keeping well and was to be operated tonight. The thought saddened me. I knew I had failed in my duties as his son. From my haunting childhood when he was forced to be a nomad because of my mistake till now when he was being operated and I was not with him. I was in a different country where even his news of his health would take time to arrive. Sitting in a corner I noticed I had tears in my eyes.

Business in the coffee house was normal as ever. It was my joint “Café Indiana”. I had cherished this dream for long and it wasn’t before last year that it had come true. Sales ever since had been phenomenonal. “Café Indiana” was an instant hit with the Indian ethnicity even before I realized. Now I proudly dreamt of extending the outlet with branches all across Australia.

The journey from a lost village boy to a café owner had been tough. But my father made sure I never gave up. When I had first arrived in this country as an illegal immigrant I had nothing but 300 dollars to boast of. People and circumstances had been helpful and with their help I was able to realize my long cherished dream. The transition had been very satisfying.

My café also had food orders from many offices nearby. That had helped my business do wonders. Not only had my joint become popular but it also allowed me to build acquaintances and friends that were priceless.

I was lost in my own thoughts when my mind was distracted by an argument taking place at a nearby table. I glanced to notice a man just about my age listening with a sullen face to what was a heated volley of accusations being served at him by my manager. I did not know the reason for my manager to lose his cool and stomp his authority over the Stranger.

I ran to the table and enquired. My manager who was busy abusing the stranger was startled. As I was explained the situation became clearer to me. The stranger had stacked his over coat with free food from my café and my manager had caught him. The stranger gave an appearance that he belonged to a well to do family. He was looking estranged and remorseful.

I decided to take this issue into realms of my own authority. I bid my manager adieu and struck a conversation with the stranger. He was named “Amit” and he was an Indian. He was working in a bank nearby until last week when downsizing began and he was fired. He told me it was very embarrassing to convey this news to his family back home and now he had ran out of money. He also said he was looking desperately for a job but without success. This was the reason for his belligerent act of stealing. He had not eaten a proper meal since days and he wanted to sneak out with food to feast on.

I felt bad for him. I looked at his face and something in me said he indeed was speaking the truth. I said his apology was enough and that he could walk off with the food. I could not deprive him of the basic entity of life. Images flashed in my mind when my family had been forced out of our home and village and when I had nothing to satisfy myself with except air. I had slept many hungry nights and I did not want him to go through the same pain. I did not want him to be me, Helpless.

I enquired if he would be ready to assist me with working of my café till he found a respectable job. He told me that he was a financial accountant and he could help me with the financial details of my café. I was pleased, I had been suffering a lot from my UN indulgence in accounts and his help would serve me a greater purpose. Amit continued to thank me for helping him out and I could not help but smile.

The hardships I had faced during my childhood had taught me a lot. From a little kid to a man supposed to support his family, the transition was complete in one night. The night when we were forced out of our village and my father suffered the first stroke of his life. The night spent at a government hospital was my epitome of helplessness. It was when I realized people suffer through life without necessarily due to any fault of their own. There are situations brought upon us and circumstances which decide our course of action and our future. I had learnt to hate the rich. They were self involved people who could listen to just their side of the story and make others dance to their tunes. They were rich; they had the money and the spoilt character to do it.

I had to help this young man out. He reminded me of the past, of my helpless days. Of days when I could see my father suffering and dying every minute in the hospital but I could do nothing about it. I asked Amit to join me at the café early morning next day and bid farewell.

Constant scrutiny of my past during the day had left a very bad taste in my mouth. I was feeling haunted. Rest of the evening passed without any more events. Soon it was time to get back home where I could leave all my grievances aside and sleep where my father’s health would matter more to me than the hardships incurred during a faulty life cycle.

When the clock struck 10, I started walking back home. My flat was cozy and only a few blocks away. Normally I would take a cab but with my thoughts playing ghosts to my mind I lit a cigarette and chose to stroll my past with the smoke. I often was bothered by the fact that I may never let go of my past and constantly allow my present and my future to be disturbed and affected adversely by it.

I had been walking for ten minutes when I heard a commotion. I noticed that a couple of natives were beating someone with a brickbat. Racist attacks were common in the country. It was for the same purpose that I carried a gun always. I fired a few shots in the air and ran towards the scene. The guys heard the gun shots and ran away as they saw me approaching.

I reached the spot and noticed it was the same guy who had been stealing food from my coffee house today. He was bleeding and was unconscious. This head had been ripped and there was blood all over his clothes. I knew there was a hospital nearby but I did not know his social security number. With increasing racist attacks all over the country the rule established every non-native to enlist their social security number in case of an emergency.

I checked his pockets for any clue but I found none. In his jeans I managed to discover his wallet. Hurriedly I emptied all its possessions on the ground. Amidst everything a few photographs also managed to catch my attention. I found my master “Shyam maalik” smiling at me. I was stunned. I checked his social security license to find his name “Amit S Barua” s/o “Shyam Barua”.

My head started spinning. This was my master’s son “Kunwar ji”. I had been deployed in his service only to be kicked out when found faulty. I wasn’t even convicted, there was no trial for my innocence, I had been charged and declared guilty. My father had to bear the brunt of my innocent act all his life.

I felt a throbbing pain in my heart. I dialed the ambulance number and informed them of the accident. I also enlisted his social security details and his father’s name. I waited for a while till the ambulance’s lights were visible. They shimmered “Red, yellow, green” along the street as I walked by. I was not a thief; I did not steal his life.