The Service Man

Gopu had begun his life in a village. His childhood was filled with the kind of pleasures that accompanied village life. Idyllic meadows, dips in chilly waters and adventures with friends. When he was 15, he became one of the few children in the village to pass his 10th. His family, at great expense, sent him to a far off town for further studies. Gopu proved dutiful, completing his 12th and his diploma; not with flying colours, but not at the bottom of his class either.

He had dutifully lined up for placements at his college and was iducted into the workforce in a big city. At 20, Gopu was employed, productive and capable of sending money back home. Gopu was happy.

Like many of the hundreds of IT repairmen in the city, Gopu lived a Spartan life; saving for his family back home, and maybe a plot of land to farm in. He lived in a rundown apartment with 5 other men. The day started early and food was always hurriedly gobbled. The Company kept tabs on their worker's visits and rest stops; and meeting quotas was vital. But Gopu was happy with all this.

He had a life of worth and a dream to look forward to, and he wore his company's badge proudly. It was a big firm, a household name. And though Gopu didn't own a single ruppee of it, he was proud to be part of it.

And just like any other day, Gopu was busy making visits. His quota was nearly complete and he had a few days of vacation coming up. He would visit his village again. Take a dip in the chilly waters of the Ganga that flowed the same way it did in his memories of childhood.

As he bounded up the stairs of the apartment building, these were the thoughts that occupied Gopu's mind. He knocked on the door; which was answered by a young man.

"What?"

"I am from GHJ sir. Here for your laptop's issue."

"Ok. Come in. Leave your shoes outside."

Gopu skipped inside. The laptop in question was brought to the hall, as was a chair for him to sit on. The owner seemed grouchy, but IT issues had a way of irritating people. This was nothing new.

He quickly took out his kit and got to work repairing the laptop. Gopu was proud of efficiency and his call times were the lowest in his region. Besides, the quicker he completed the call, the quicker he could board a bus to his home in the village.

Gopu visited his village every few months. But though nothing was said, this visit was special. There was the prospect of a marriage, and Gopu was happy. But the thought of his village and of the Ganges had reminded Gopu that he was thirsty.

"Is it done?"

"Just a minute sir, I need to reassemble the device. Could I please have some water?"

The owner clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. This was normal. Most people saw computers as magic boxes, and hated when they had to wait.

The water arrived in a glass cup. It caught the flourescent light of the apartment and glowed in rainbow colours. Gopu was enthralled. He had never seen such a delicate and exquisitely carved glass. It was simple but gloriously decorated with cuts. He resolved to buy such a cup for his future bride and himself. And drink exclusively from it.

Gopu finished his glass of water and his work, carefully placing both on the table. He bounded out of the house and the apartment complex after the owner grunted his assent. Gopu thought of his trip home and the peanuts he would munch on in the bus. Gopu was happy.

Suddenly, he remembered that the receipt book was not signed, and his company mandated that the book be signed by the customer.

He lept back up the stairs in a hurry and knocked on the door. The grumpy owner returned.

"What now?"

"I need your sign on this receipt sir."

"Bah. Come in. What receipt is this?"

Gopu handed him the form, which was replete with questions about his efficiency, quality, performance etc. Gopu had a near perfect score in his reviews, he was proud of this.

As the owner slowly worked his way through the form, Gopu glanced around. The laptop was still on the table, and the chair he had sat on still faced it. But both seemed wet.

This was strange, the laptop was a costly one, but not waterproof. As he looked at the table, Gopu stopped thinking. There was a bottle of Ganga Jal next to the laptop.

Thoughts slowly trickled back as he realized what had happened.

The owner thought the laptop was polluted. Polluted by Gopu's touch.Polluted by his breath and his hands. Polluted by his grasp and his work.

Gopu's mind was struck by lightning. His head bent down in shame, in disgust. Was this all he was? Pollution? Something to be cleared away? Muck?

His mind raced as his body reeled. The jeers his classmates had made on his caste, the village leaders who wouldn't step into his family's house. The village priest who made him stand ten paces outside the temple. It all came gushing back. Gushing like the Ganges. The very Ganges that had decorated his life now desecrated it.

The very water his dreams had worshipped now spat at him in contempt. It spat at his work and his pride. It cut down his image of himself.

He was no longer Gopu the IT worker, no longer Gopu the diploma holder, no longer the son of his father or the apple of his mother's eye. He was dirt, to be swept away and despised.

"Here, it's done."

The shrill voice broke his reverie. He took the receipt with shaking hands , his eyes downcast. There was no anger in Gopu, no spite. Just a deep, hollow, gnawing sense of shame.

As he turned to leave, Gopu saw the glass he had been given water in. That beautiful play of light that had transfixed him and made him promise to possess it. That gem that had touched his heart.

It had been put next to the owner's slippers, too polluted to be put back in the kitchen. It was muck, like the muck stuck to the slippers.

Gopu said nothing. He left the apartment. There was no bounce in his step now. No pride, no sense of worth. No dreams caressed his hollowed mind. But he thought of his village again. The expectant smiles of his parents and friends fluttered into his eyes. Gopu tried to be happy.