I have always thought of documenting lives of all those known and unknown people who have touched my life. These would be a tribute to them. This would also help others understand what they meant to me and what they meant to this world. I would try to be as honest as possible though sometimes we need to skip names to keep it non-controversial.
Let us start with Hazaree Lal Maassaab.
When I was 6 years old, I was sent to MHOW to live at my grandparent's place. Dad was inM.P. State Mall Road Bhayaji Road
It was an old dilapidated home, it was old British style bungalow and had two big rooms, the two smaller rooms, old verandah on either sides were converted into these rooms. One side was our kitchen. My favorite was the front verandah. With wooden pillars holding a tin roof, it looked very nice. We had a small garden in front of our home. Most of the time, the garden was in a state of constant over growth. The bushes the trees were always over grown. Then suddenly one weekend one of the uncles would get down to cleaning up and trimming these bushes and trees. The picket (which was always wooden rather than white) fence gate which led to this garden also always dragged along. It was small enough to get one scooter pass through it no more than that.
Our home was never quiet, we always had guests around. We always had many people coming and living with us. With two uncles and two aunts, living under the same roof it was always a fun place.
In those days in the early 80's MHOW used to be a real small town. It was very clean as was expected of a Military Cantonment. It had lots of open spaces and greenery. Mall road was the lifeline of MHOW, it had beautiful Gulmohar trees lined up on its side. MHOW had calmness about it. Calmness combined with great climate made it seem like a paradise. MHOW actually was an acronym for Military Headquarters of War.
When I moved to MHOW, I joined 'Army School , MHOW', which in those days used to be called 'Combat Central School
MHOW had characters, which have left indelible impression on me. I would love to come to all of them one by one. One of the characters which I cannot forget for a lot of reasons is Hazaree Lal Massaab as he was known. Everyone called him that, including the Massaab at the end. His actual name was Hazaree Lal Shrivastava but no one ever called him that.
He was old, very old, even in the early 80s he was a generation above my granddad. We all speculated about his age, but somehow we all have the impression that he was born around the turn of the century, around 1902 or 1903.
What I had heard from people was that he was a teacher of 'English Language' in the local high school in MHOW. To teach English in the olden days was a glamorous job. During the Raj, English was an elitist language. Only those privileged enough or literate enough would know it. Hence, I always got the impression that Hazaree Lal ji was very well respected. He had retired from his teaching duties in the 50s. So now, you can imagine how old he might be.
He was quite tall, broad shouldered though his shoulders had started to stoop a bit with age. You might misunderstand this statement, but, for his age he was very erect, looking at him no one could say he was over 80. He had a very distinctive face. His chin was pointy. Not very fair but not dark either. Sharp nose & small eyes, they had a certain attraction in them. He was always wearing a ‘Nehru cap’ and what is strange is that when I look back I do not remember ever seeing him with out his cap and hence I do not know what his hair looked like.
He was always dressed neatly, though always in a similar attire. He wore a darkish khaki baggy pants in the 50s style mostly algae green in colour. His shirts were mostly of white cotton. He had Nehru cap on with neat shoes. Sometimes they were brown canvas shoes, which the army ‘Jawans’ used to get for jogging. He used to carry a cotton bag, almost of size 12” by 6 “. I never got to know all the contents of that bag, it always had one writing pad, one pencil and a small tin box.
In the afternoon, we used to see him come home on his bicycle. Even in that age, he could ride his bike. Not only rode it, but also, rode it well. I had never seen him being under any duress because of it. He was never out of breath, his bicycle never wobbled. He used to let it lean over the hedge of our garden.
He used to come to our home in the afternoon to read newspaper. Yes, that is what he used to come for. My granddad used to subscribe to ‘The Times of India’ and he used to come and read it at our place. Diligently he came almost every afternoon.
In the open veranda, we had two reclining chairs; these wooden chairs had plastic netting in it. They were extremely comfortable. He always sat on that and read the newspaper.
Every time he read the newspaper, he took out that writing pad of his and started to jot down things. First, it was amusing and then one day he told the reason. This was his hobby. He wrote down the days headlines in his copies. He had been doing that for years; he had told once that he had around 100 copies filled with it. I was taken aback, somewhere deep down inside me this thought attracted me a lot.
My imagination went wild, I started imagining his house filled with old writing pads. Always thought it would be so cool to look back at those books. Whenever, I encountered a date from the past, I used to think that one day I would go to his home, search for that day, and see what he has written for that particular instance.
He and my granddad were friends of sort. I always got an impression that he used to like my Nana more than Nana liked him. However, Nana was always polite to him. Whenever he came by, they both had a cup of tea. Talked mostly about current affairs and rarely had an argument about things. Though one day they both argued about, which is the best English daily? , never reached a conclusion of course.
It must be winters of 1984 or 85, thePunjab terrorism was on its way down. Daddy was visiting MHOW. I remember he was sitting in the main hall and Mr. Hazaree Lal Maasaab was sitting outside in the veranda. Suddenly he turned to ‘Grandmother’ and asked her if she could spare some Razai and Gadde (Quilts and Mattresses). He said that some of his friends from Punjab are running away from the terrorism there and they were coming to MHOW to live there. Nani said that she would look for some of them.
As he left, Daddy turned towards Nana and Nani and said with a lot compassion on his face. (What's uncanny is that I still remember that face of my dad clearly). Gareebi ek achche aadmi se kitne jhoot bulwati hai, agar zayada ho to de dena, nahin to ek razai banwa dete hain. (What all poverty makes a decent man say and do; if you have extra please give it to him else we will get one quilt made for him).
Next day Nani had a set of quilt and mattress for him.
This instance came and hit me like a bullet, I had never thought of Mr. Hazaree Lal’s finances. Never thought that a man who is so well read and even in his 80s had a desire to know about the world couldn’t even afford a newspaper. Could not imagine what his world would be like in winters without decent mattress to sleep on or a quilt to lie under. I was distraught. I could never gather the courage to ask him or ask my Nana about it but it always stayed with me. Maybe that day I grew up a little and lost a little of my innocence. Now I started to look at people along with their finances.
There were a few times when he actually helped my friends and me with English homework too, but it was never formal, he never volunteered and we never asked.
Then in 1987 my grandfather and grandmother went to theUS New York
This was the only time I went to his home and the occasion was such that I could not look around his home nor look at those writing pads of his.
It was a very shoddy home, I only saw the front room from the door, but it was as I had imagined filled with books. It had a bed on one side, which was pretty dirty as it had not been washed for a few days. We didn’t go in. We just stood at the door and gave him the invitation card.
Then uncle gave me his background. He had a wife whom I had never heard off. His relations with his wife were never good but they still lived together. I am not so sure about his children, I don’t remember clearly did he have any or not. Even if did they were not with him neither did he ever talk about that.
His father was some kind of a ‘Tantrik’. What I got from talking to a few old people is that he had a troubled childhood. His father used to believe in witchcraft and he always had people coming in and out of his house. His father used to sacrifice chickens to cure people’s illnesses and take alcohol as his payment. Therefore, the environment for his upbringing wasn’t good. But from there to get a degree in English in those a days and then to teach English for a real long time was a good achievement.
After my granddad’s death his visits to our home became very less. In around 1994 when my uncle from theUS US
Around 1996 I was about to leave for the US and I was walking through MHOW Main Street and I saw Mr. Hazareelal sitting at Saifie Mian’s shop. It was small shop selling plastic goods and he was sitting outside on a chair. He saw me and called me. I was very happy and surprised to see him after such a long time. His old faithful bicycle was with him that day too.
He was very kind and sweet to me. I had a big nasty pimple on my face. He suddenly saw that and took out an antibiotic cream from his bag. Took out the ointment on his finger and applied to the pimple himself. I was in a hurry and left him sitting there. I had no idea that this would be my last meeting with him.
I came to theUS
Somehow, my uncle not sending him money still hurts me. Every time I think of Mr. Hazaree Lal I feel a pang in my heart that someone I know didn’t pay him when he desperately needed money in this old age.
I think somehow he had tremendous influence on me as far as reading newspaper is concerned. I have been reading it for last 20 years and I would keep reading it in future. He is one of those who helped me understand the importance of reading and specially knowing what is going around us. Maybe at some level me writing these blogs is an extension of what Hazaree Lal Maasaab did in his writing pads.
Did I ever tell you what was in that little tin box which he used to carry in his bag? It contained small little lemon and other fruit flavoured sweet drops. They were probably of the cheapest kind, but every time he saw me, he used to offer one to me. Every time someone new visited, our home and he met them he offered them too. I still remember those drops and Hazaree Lal Maasaab.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Let us start with Hazaree Lal Maassaab.
When I was 6 years old, I was sent to MHOW to live at my grandparent's place. Dad was in
It was an old dilapidated home, it was old British style bungalow and had two big rooms, the two smaller rooms, old verandah on either sides were converted into these rooms. One side was our kitchen. My favorite was the front verandah. With wooden pillars holding a tin roof, it looked very nice. We had a small garden in front of our home. Most of the time, the garden was in a state of constant over growth. The bushes the trees were always over grown. Then suddenly one weekend one of the uncles would get down to cleaning up and trimming these bushes and trees. The picket (which was always wooden rather than white) fence gate which led to this garden also always dragged along. It was small enough to get one scooter pass through it no more than that.
Our home was never quiet, we always had guests around. We always had many people coming and living with us. With two uncles and two aunts, living under the same roof it was always a fun place.
In those days in the early 80's MHOW used to be a real small town. It was very clean as was expected of a Military Cantonment. It had lots of open spaces and greenery. Mall road was the lifeline of MHOW, it had beautiful Gulmohar trees lined up on its side. MHOW had calmness about it. Calmness combined with great climate made it seem like a paradise. MHOW actually was an acronym for Military Headquarters of War.
When I moved to MHOW, I joined '
MHOW had characters, which have left indelible impression on me. I would love to come to all of them one by one. One of the characters which I cannot forget for a lot of reasons is Hazaree Lal Massaab as he was known. Everyone called him that, including the Massaab at the end. His actual name was Hazaree Lal Shrivastava but no one ever called him that.
He was old, very old, even in the early 80s he was a generation above my granddad. We all speculated about his age, but somehow we all have the impression that he was born around the turn of the century, around 1902 or 1903.
What I had heard from people was that he was a teacher of 'English Language' in the local high school in MHOW. To teach English in the olden days was a glamorous job. During the Raj, English was an elitist language. Only those privileged enough or literate enough would know it. Hence, I always got the impression that Hazaree Lal ji was very well respected. He had retired from his teaching duties in the 50s. So now, you can imagine how old he might be.
He was quite tall, broad shouldered though his shoulders had started to stoop a bit with age. You might misunderstand this statement, but, for his age he was very erect, looking at him no one could say he was over 80. He had a very distinctive face. His chin was pointy. Not very fair but not dark either. Sharp nose & small eyes, they had a certain attraction in them. He was always wearing a ‘Nehru cap’ and what is strange is that when I look back I do not remember ever seeing him with out his cap and hence I do not know what his hair looked like.
He was always dressed neatly, though always in a similar attire. He wore a darkish khaki baggy pants in the 50s style mostly algae green in colour. His shirts were mostly of white cotton. He had Nehru cap on with neat shoes. Sometimes they were brown canvas shoes, which the army ‘Jawans’ used to get for jogging. He used to carry a cotton bag, almost of size 12” by 6 “. I never got to know all the contents of that bag, it always had one writing pad, one pencil and a small tin box.
In the afternoon, we used to see him come home on his bicycle. Even in that age, he could ride his bike. Not only rode it, but also, rode it well. I had never seen him being under any duress because of it. He was never out of breath, his bicycle never wobbled. He used to let it lean over the hedge of our garden.
He used to come to our home in the afternoon to read newspaper. Yes, that is what he used to come for. My granddad used to subscribe to ‘The Times of India’ and he used to come and read it at our place. Diligently he came almost every afternoon.
In the open veranda, we had two reclining chairs; these wooden chairs had plastic netting in it. They were extremely comfortable. He always sat on that and read the newspaper.
Every time he read the newspaper, he took out that writing pad of his and started to jot down things. First, it was amusing and then one day he told the reason. This was his hobby. He wrote down the days headlines in his copies. He had been doing that for years; he had told once that he had around 100 copies filled with it. I was taken aback, somewhere deep down inside me this thought attracted me a lot.
My imagination went wild, I started imagining his house filled with old writing pads. Always thought it would be so cool to look back at those books. Whenever, I encountered a date from the past, I used to think that one day I would go to his home, search for that day, and see what he has written for that particular instance.
He and my granddad were friends of sort. I always got an impression that he used to like my Nana more than Nana liked him. However, Nana was always polite to him. Whenever he came by, they both had a cup of tea. Talked mostly about current affairs and rarely had an argument about things. Though one day they both argued about, which is the best English daily? , never reached a conclusion of course.
It must be winters of 1984 or 85, the
As he left, Daddy turned towards Nana and Nani and said with a lot compassion on his face. (What's uncanny is that I still remember that face of my dad clearly). Gareebi ek achche aadmi se kitne jhoot bulwati hai, agar zayada ho to de dena, nahin to ek razai banwa dete hain. (What all poverty makes a decent man say and do; if you have extra please give it to him else we will get one quilt made for him).
Next day Nani had a set of quilt and mattress for him.
This instance came and hit me like a bullet, I had never thought of Mr. Hazaree Lal’s finances. Never thought that a man who is so well read and even in his 80s had a desire to know about the world couldn’t even afford a newspaper. Could not imagine what his world would be like in winters without decent mattress to sleep on or a quilt to lie under. I was distraught. I could never gather the courage to ask him or ask my Nana about it but it always stayed with me. Maybe that day I grew up a little and lost a little of my innocence. Now I started to look at people along with their finances.
There were a few times when he actually helped my friends and me with English homework too, but it was never formal, he never volunteered and we never asked.
Then in 1987 my grandfather and grandmother went to the
This was the only time I went to his home and the occasion was such that I could not look around his home nor look at those writing pads of his.
It was a very shoddy home, I only saw the front room from the door, but it was as I had imagined filled with books. It had a bed on one side, which was pretty dirty as it had not been washed for a few days. We didn’t go in. We just stood at the door and gave him the invitation card.
Then uncle gave me his background. He had a wife whom I had never heard off. His relations with his wife were never good but they still lived together. I am not so sure about his children, I don’t remember clearly did he have any or not. Even if did they were not with him neither did he ever talk about that.
His father was some kind of a ‘Tantrik’. What I got from talking to a few old people is that he had a troubled childhood. His father used to believe in witchcraft and he always had people coming in and out of his house. His father used to sacrifice chickens to cure people’s illnesses and take alcohol as his payment. Therefore, the environment for his upbringing wasn’t good. But from there to get a degree in English in those a days and then to teach English for a real long time was a good achievement.
After my granddad’s death his visits to our home became very less. In around 1994 when my uncle from the
Around 1996 I was about to leave for the US and I was walking through MHOW Main Street and I saw Mr. Hazareelal sitting at Saifie Mian’s shop. It was small shop selling plastic goods and he was sitting outside on a chair. He saw me and called me. I was very happy and surprised to see him after such a long time. His old faithful bicycle was with him that day too.
He was very kind and sweet to me. I had a big nasty pimple on my face. He suddenly saw that and took out an antibiotic cream from his bag. Took out the ointment on his finger and applied to the pimple himself. I was in a hurry and left him sitting there. I had no idea that this would be my last meeting with him.
I came to the
Somehow, my uncle not sending him money still hurts me. Every time I think of Mr. Hazaree Lal I feel a pang in my heart that someone I know didn’t pay him when he desperately needed money in this old age.
I think somehow he had tremendous influence on me as far as reading newspaper is concerned. I have been reading it for last 20 years and I would keep reading it in future. He is one of those who helped me understand the importance of reading and specially knowing what is going around us. Maybe at some level me writing these blogs is an extension of what Hazaree Lal Maasaab did in his writing pads.
Did I ever tell you what was in that little tin box which he used to carry in his bag? It contained small little lemon and other fruit flavoured sweet drops. They were probably of the cheapest kind, but every time he saw me, he used to offer one to me. Every time someone new visited, our home and he met them he offered them too. I still remember those drops and Hazaree Lal Maasaab.
I found an old picture of Hazaree Lal Maasaab in our album. He is the right most in the picture. If I am not mistaken this picture is from 1984.
From the left:
1. My Grandfather 'Nana' in coloured checkered shirt,
2. Ratan Mama, my mother's maternal uncle.
3. Ramesh Pradhan Nanaji, my Nana's younger brother.
4. Hazareelal ji with his cap. Sadly in this pic we can't see his bicycle.
5 comments:
This is the first time I have read something like this. The story is really touchy.
I feel that someone should have helped him in his last days.
I particularly like the intensity of your observation
I particularly like the intensity of you observation
It was really touchy, he was one person whom I never heard of even after being connected with mhow for long. After reading abt him I feel that Masaab deserved a lot more respect from my uncles.
Very poignant......good work Anurag. Nice story telling......This sure is a tribute to the good soul.
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