Hear no evil. Speak no evil

My father, who was hearing and speech impaired, was part of a group of people who shared the same impairment. They in fact had a local union, and members used to take turns hosting their weekly meetings. When it was our turn, I always acted as an attendant, a standby for running errands like serving tea, etc.
The gathering was a classic example of unity in diversity.

There was no discrimination, no differences on the basis of caste, creed, religion, language, etc. The members were from diverse religious, social, and economic backgrounds, and my father was the only Muslim.

It was with much ease that they steered clear of vices like malice, prejudice, ill will, disharmony, etc., which are easily the hallmarks of today’s times. By taking a quick look at the gathering, it seemed as if all their individual differences had amalgamated into one and the only universal caste—that of the deaf and dumb.

They seldom made noise, except perhaps expressing ‘Aa, Aa, Ya, Ya’ while trying to make their point clear to others, interspersed with their distinct and characteristic sign language. Rest of the time, they enjoyed the calmness that can be obtained only at the bottom of the oceans, or so we thought!

Meetings were meant for discussing their individual problems, which were resolved by mutual agreement there and then. At that time, my father’s friend Bhatnagar, himself similarly challenged, was the state secretary of the union and worked as an officer at the West Coast paper mills in Dandeli. He sometimes conducted fund-raisers
to help the needy. My father then worked at a steel cabinet manufacturing company.

At about the same time, unfortunately, there was a lockout after a prolonged strike by the employees at my father’s company, which meant a loss of subsistence of Rs 100 to my father, stark unemployment, and starvation. The year was 1974.

My father knew some tailoring, and my mother too lent a hand, and we barely managed to keep starvation at bay. When this news reached Bhatnagar, he got my father to apply at the local unit of the Mysore Kirloskar factory. When questions arose about my father’s ability to learn and adapt, it was Bhatnagar who furiously pursued the case, convinced those concerned, and opened the doors of the company to my father. And thus, he helped a family of five children eke out a living thereafter.

When my father got his first salary of a princely Rs 300 from Kirloskar, he gifted his mentor an HMT watch.
Both my father and Bhatnagar have passed on. But the relationship they shared is cherished by all of us, particularly now when divisions in society are getting deeper. They have left behind a profound lesson: helping those in difficulty and human kindness are not bound by barriers of religion.