My aunt recently passed away. She was 86. She died of natural causes, peacefully in her home, in her own bed, after refusing sustenance and drifting in and out of consciousness for a few days.
Her funeral was attended by close family, her maids, the nurse who had tended to her, and a few close friends.
I noticed a group of men who had offered a garland and stood reverentially for some time, looking genuinely sad and respectful. My other aunt introduced them as the auto-rickshaw drivers who had their stand very close to the house.
Afterwards, when I tried to hail one of them to go home, they politely refused. The main driver informed me in a soft voice that, out of respect for my aunt, none of them would ply their auto-rickshaws that day.
I was truly amazed. She must have meant a lot to them if they were willing to forgo a day’s income to show their respect. Over the years, this diminutive woman had known each one by their names, their families, and had bestowed her usual kindness on them.
When I was a child, she was the aunt who dropped in every Saturday afternoon after work, with cakes and treats… Even on the Saturdays I was at my grandparents’ farmhouse (a 2-hour bus ride away) during school holidays. She was my friend and confidant during my teenage years. Whatever woes I had shared, she was always on my side, and I could never feel judged by her.
She was the most generous person I have seen. She used to borrow money to help those in need. Once she let go of her tenants (which must have been a secondary source of income to her) to accommodate a sister who had tragically lost her husband. And slowly, the rest of the family moved in with her.
Through the years, my visits to her became infrequent. Though living in the same city, I hardly saw her once or twice a year. But she never missed calling me on my birthday.
When I visited her a few days before she passed away, she was barely conscious. I sat by her pillow and held her hand. She opened one eye and greeted me. “How are you?” I asked her cheerfully. “I’m fine. How are you?” she responded. Then she just closed her eye. I wasn’t sure if she was awake, but I still held her hand for a good ten minutes. She passed away peacefully in three days’ time.
Whenever I think of that day, the auto-rickshaw drivers’ tribute to my aunt stands out in my mind.
I don’t think this kind of love and respect can be bought by a fat bank balance or the properties you own.
There are great leaders for whom an entire country pays homage. There are film stars to whom fans pay grand tributes.
But to me, this small band of men paying homage to an ordinary mortal like my aunt is greater than the most flamboyant of homages.
Especially in these times of deep mistrust and rampant insecurities, people with my aunt’s benevolent spirit are too few and far between.
At the end of the day, it all boils down to the genuine affection, kindness, and respect you show people in your corner of the world.
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