Ravi Tandukar

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trying to sell an old car could be this much trouble, I never imagined. Dodgy scammers, criminals, tools who never turn up for appointments or fools who can’t find their way out of the car park, they are all part of the journey. My weekend was done when this fool of a woman called me Saturday morning to meet at a local shopping mall so that she could look at the car. She turned up half an hour later, on my phone, completely losing it as she was unable to get out of the car park! All grumpy and pissed off, I had to cut short the meeting and walk away before I lost my sanity.

Then Sunday morning an old Middle eastern sounding gentleman called from Parramatta saying he could be there at 1 pm. The meeting was set and off I went waiting for him. I arrived early thinking of grabbing my favorite takeway coffee, I had some time to sit down in a local food court. I sat by the window pane overlooking the ice rink sipping my coffee working on my Mac checking some other potential car buyers’ messages. The seat in front of me was changing bums, from a Russian couple and their daughter to an Indian family  and some teenagers, in quick succession. The last character to sit in front of me was an unkempt dirty looking mid forties man. He politely asked if the seat was taken, I just gestured back its not. He immediately started a conversation with comments about the cold. I shot few words back saying yeah, the polar blast has been quite bad. He did not want to end it there and asked if I lived around the place. I said yes, and told him why I was there, I was waiting for someone to look at my car. To my surprise, he started to unravel his life story in front of me. He said that he is actually homeless, and once had a car, a house and job. He took me through his mental alley. He was apparently an artist and worked with quite a few indegenous artists, took on jobs painting street signs and art work. But due to poor health he could not continue and fell out, instead working odd jobs as construction worker. There he did well and actually became a low level manager. But his health deterioriated further and he could not work at all. And just like that one night, he found himself on the street, nowhere to go. He became homeless overnight! Since then he has been moving from one government housing to another, and currently in one where he could be evicted soon due to complaints he has made about the place – it is full or rats and cockroaches. The reason he has been given apparently have been his aggressive behaviour, unable to comply with housing regulations and threats towards the housing commission workers. He denied ever committing any of those felony.

In the midle of the conversation with the homeless man, I realised it was already 1 pm, the car buyer was supposed to be there. I had to call him back instead, just for him to tell me that he is still in Parramatta, his brother turne up late! No fu***ing message no apologies nothing! I lost track of the homeless guy dealing with this a-hole on the phone and before late, realized I was already on my car driving way back home fuming. Once my fumes subsided and mind cooled off, I suddenly remembered him and thought where would the guy be going if he was really evicted tonight! My weekend was screwed totally, but things were put in perspective. Life sure has a funny way of sneaking up on you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Purke (pronounced Poorkay), my father’s best friend, came to live with us since his early childhood and quickly adapted to life in the family. Inspite of all the ruckus he created since arriving, he won over people with his dedication to the family. Although unqualified, he took over as a house security guard and had very protective tendencies from early on.

He also showed great interest in well being of the family members. He is not
demanding and and pretty low maintenance. But he has some serious negative
characters, which I think are too late to change. His aggressive nature is helpful in
warding off unwanted visitors and thieves, but also makes him unapproachable and moody. This makes dealing with him very difficult. He also lacks self hygiene and has no manners. He would run around bare footed and then jump in the beds or sofas, bringing in dirt and germs. He also sheds a lot of hair, all our carpet is covered in it.

However, his fondness of the family, specially towards my father, has earned him a good place at home, and this has helped outweigh his shortcomings.

He has been with us for twelve years, basically all his life and is now like a family member. In fact, he has been providing a much needed moral and mental support for my father, who would lose a genuine listener to share his emotions without him. Purke provides a good hearty welcome everytime a family members or guests come home from outside, rare these days where no one cares about one another. This applies to those who he likes, those he does not like, God help them.

But he sometimes goes overboard and does not know when to stop, completely overwhelming people. Thankfully he is not fussed about electronic gadgets, tv or fashion, so it makes him very down to earth kinda character, easy to work with.

By the way, Purke is our dog. Although his official name is Bruno, we rarely use it,
He owes his un-official name to his physical stature, Purke in Nepalese means someone short. It seems to fit him pretty well as he is both short and stout.

Sadly, Purke passed away few months ago. Hope you are in a good place buddy. And if you have come back to this planet in a different body, do let us know 🙂

 

While window shopping at Chatswood Westfield today I ran into an elderly man who used to live in the same building as me in Ashfield some ten years ago.

I was still renting at this early years of my life in Sydney, so was he, sharing the apartment below my floor with his even older sister. I remember the day I moved into my apartment and had to guide the removal van into the driveway. The elderly sister of the man came out and we had a short conversation about how the truck should not be coming in from the driveway, rather should be coming from the side of the building where there was a paved road leading into the building. She looked frail and her voice was very faint, but she was very friendly and corteous as she mentioned the driveway had just been repaired at an expensive cost to all the dwellers of the building. I did as she said and she was very happy. Few months later one morning, the old man came up to my flat, knocking on the door panicking. With tears rolling down his eyes and his body shaking, he told me that the door to his sister’s room was locked from inside. There was also a note on the door saying do not try to open. I went down with him to his flat and found the door to his sister was indeed locked with the note. I could guess what might have happened, the old man also knew it. Our knocks on the door went unanswered. I decided it was time to call the police and ambulance. The cops arrived at the place soon and would not let anyone enter the room anymore. It was clear the sister had died. The old man was crying a very sad sad cry that hounds me to this day when I think about it. It was a hauting cry of a man who is now truly and completely alone in this world, there was no one left in his life.

I used to sometimes help them carry their meagre shoppings from the street to their rooms. Their rooms were barely furnished and had very poor lighting. Obviously, the government grant would not go too far in terms of luxury, it was not even close to bare minimum required for survival in one of the most expensive cities on earth.

Fact that the old man is still living today is honestly quite surprising to me, pleasantly. He must be in his late eighties now, or even ninety. He could barely walk today but hey, no walking sticks yet! Just heavily slouching, and no glasses. His skin had completely peeled off and seemed to be hanging off like a loose plastic bag on his face. I saw him and went close to greet him, he did not recognize at first. After a moment of recollection, he remembered me. Then a smile lit up his whole face. He made my day. We talked a little about the past and how it used to be in Ashfield. He told me about his life after there, there was not much except being transferred from one government shelter to another or some other places he could barely afford to live and his walks every day. He said he can barely see anymore and he forgot his glasses today. He told me that he can no longer recognize people’s faces, and people have been saying to him that he has been rude as he does not respond to their greetings. He pleaded in his faint voice that I come and chat with him if I see him anywhere, that if he walked past me without greeting it would be only because he did not see me at all, not becasue he is rude or impolite.

We said good bye, I watched him disappear into the other side of the road. I could not help think, eventually, it could be me, it could be any of us.

During an afternoon chat with a friend living in Hong Kong today, the city of billionaires, the discussion eventually turned to its current situation and future. While it is not shocking to know about the gap between haves and have-nots widening, a familiar story around any capitalist society, it was rude surprise to find there is more room for shock, it is also number one in many other rather unflattering categories. It is the most expensive place to live, least hopeful city in the world! And slowly going up the ladder of most youth suicide rates. For the city with diamond like night sky, it also has a very rotten underbelly, literally. People living in worse than third world like shoe box rooms with leaking roofs, three generations living in three rooms, no sanitation, power or running water. Its quite astounding to know that almost half the people live this way.

Government spends hundreds of billions on welfare, but not on providing cheaper hosing to the have-nots. A place where a two bedroom apartment costs ten million Aussie dollars, I don’t know what hope the young people would have. No wonder they are leaving Hong Kong in droves, similar to South Asian youths flocking to rich Arab nations in the Middle East. The net result is same. Another consequence of this is the old ones ending up in streets or living in literally rat holes.

It seems almost that this city, built by the British Empire and handed over to the Chinese as the goose that lays golden eggs, wants you to become rich, nothing else. Nominal taxes, lax business rules, world class infrastructure at fraction of cost of other developed nations.

But what if you don’t? Or what if you failed? If you are not rich, it appears it does not know what to do with you. So basically, if you want to make it this is the best place. But with current generation losing hope at this rate, and things don’t improve, how long before it turns into a junk yard of billionaires?

 

 

“Look in the mirror Stevie, see, that is Stevie!”, the father yells at his comatose boy. The boy stares at himself in the mirror wondering who he is looking at. Is it dad? is it mom? The irony of not recognizing himself does not bother him, because it does not even occur in his mind. I saw a father and his unresponsive son in a bathroom at a local shopping mall, having this conversation today, I saw a completely different world in front of me. The mirror I was also looking at and seeing them was like a curtain to the other world they live. Little boy was probably around four, otherwise looking healthy except for his lost and expressionless eyes, opened mouth. Probably a case of severe autism or some kind of brain development issue, father a young guy in his mid forties. Our gazes met for a couple of seconds, I had nothing to offer. The boy can’t talk back, what kind of conversation would they have? I got out controlled, but my mind was numb. What is the point of creating such a world?

On the way driving back, my son was playing with my wife at the back seat of the car, I was occasionally glancing at him through the rear view mirror and looking at us all being reflected, my world. My mind kept drifting to the father and son in the shopping mall, wondering what is going on in their world at this very moment, if the boy had been fed.

If luck was rationed, we all have our potions. Sad and grateful.

Like a Dire Straits song..
There’s so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones..