Man is selfish. In today’s world it appears that he is becoming more so. Most actions of people today are guided by self-interest. Sometime even the charity is guided by self-interest.  I remember watching a TV show of a media tycoon who was giving a talk to some school children. There was a pride in his voice when he said that he came from very humble background and whatever he has achieved is by his own hard work. Today he had everything that he required in his life. What next, asked the students? Without batting an eyelid he responded that he is working on charitable causes so that he is remembered even fifty years after he was no more. What an amazing motivation for charity? Self-interest reigns supreme.

But in my humble opinion, while majority of people may be guided by self-interest, any society, country or even an organization prospers because of those few whose actions are selfless. These are the people who one should identify in life, remember, cherish and try to follow. While everybody has a right to say that he or she is a self-made person, in reality every step upwards is possible only after one keeps his feet on the stepping stones. Issue only remains whether those stepping stones are remembered and acknowledged or forgotten.  Issue is also whether we could become stepping stone for anyone or not – though this is not something one needs to remember.

Today I am at home even though it is a working day. Body was crying for a day more of rest after a minor surgery. There can’t be a better day for me to remember, cherish and pay my respects to the stepping stones in my life – the ones that I remember. Obvious people like my parents are not the stepping stones but the rocks that support me even today and will do so till I live.  

1983. My first move to the hostel. Those were the days when ragging was not banned. Also, the University was a stand-alone campus with no city nearby. Parents were naturally concerned. It was not easy to find relatives and acquaintances at such a place. But with societal bonds stronger in those days, my father dug out reference of a distant relative.  He was in the administrative department in language section and had nothing to do with teaching. His name was Dr. Vinod Chandra Vidyalankar. His claim to fame in the small university campus was that he dispensed free homeopathic medicines to all. And he was a very good doctor. I still have no idea of our exact relationship with him. I met him first time there only. But for four years he was my local guardian there. All my festivals were celebrated at his house. Every weekend I had my dinner there to run away from mess food. There were university unrests once or twice and I had a place to hide from the crowd. I never once felt being away from home because of my uncle, Dr. Vidyalankar. Even my friends were welcome and comfortable at his place. I really don’t know if such people exist today. I also don’t know if I can do the same for any distant relative of mine. But for me this uncle is a very important stepping stone, whose love and affection can never ever be repaid.

The year was 1986, summer months. I had got my summer assignment at BHEL Bhopal. Bhopal gas tragedy was still fresh in the minds of people. Life there was still not normal. In those days summer interns were actually considered nuisance and there was no concept of either any stipend or accommodation. I had to hunt for a PG accommodation in vicinity. On the second day I found a Punjabi family, Bhasin’s if I remember correctly, which was like ours except that the bread winner of family had died recently. Lady of the house immediately looked at me like her own son. I stayed there for two months, one bedroom to myself and all meals at home. I was literally at home under care of a mother. I have not seen such a scenario in my life after I left Bhopal. In today’s world where even cousins and at times parents are not welcome at our homes for more than few days this love and affection from strangers was unbelievable. May world have more Mrs. Bhasins’ to spread their love and kindness.  

Wheel of time keeps moving. After about a year I came to a metro, Delhi, for the first time. For a small town student, who had mostly studied in Kendriya Vidyalaya, it was a double whammy when he landed in a large city and joined an MBA course at Faculty of Management Studies, University of Delhi, where students and teachers used to converse in English. But my travails had just started. In the entire batch of around 40 students, where I guess seven or eight wanted hostel accommodation, I was the only one who didn’t get it for one full year. It was everyday struggle to survive in that city on meagre funds sent by my father with great difficulty and study. For a few months I took one room on rent in a residential colony nearby. This is a room within the house but meals were not included in the package. It was a lower middle class colony. Within few days of my being there I fell sick and had very high fever. There was no one look after me. Suddenly, lady of the house took pity on me and nursed me for more than week like a family member. During this period my father came to visit me and offered to take me with him. She just didn’t allow that. Once again great Almighty sent a motherly figure in my life at the right moment. I was there for not more than three months, but the love, affection and care that I received there is something that is out of ordinary. I am not sure if I can do this for a stranger or not. Answer is, probably not.  This is a very important stepping stone for me.

One fine day my education got over and I got my first job. Those were also the early days of corporatization of India. Not all companies provided accommodation to the management trainees. At least the company that I joined didn’t. On top of that they posted me to the city of Calcutta where we had no connections. Office staff struggled to make me comfortable till I got a roof over my head and I spent few days each with some of my colleagues in their homes. How a vegetarian like me survived in Bengali households in those days will require another story. But finally, they managed to get me a PG accommodation. As the luck would have it, once again it was a motherly lady, a widow, Mrs. Sengupta. She lived in a large flat in a building by name Dakshinayan on the Southern Avenue. Her own son was posted in Patna and was a medical representative. Few months that I spent there were luxurious. Typically large rooms, bathrooms and balconies of Calcutta of those days were a welcome change from Bombay where my father was posted then. Arrangement was that I shall only have bed tea and breakfast at home since vegetarian meals were not so easy for the lady. I used to get the most sumptuous breakfast. And the best part was morning cup of tea with two Marie biscuits. Lady insisted that one must have tea in the morning along with something to eat. This habit has stayed with me ever since. Calcutta being Calcutta even then, the stint cannot be completed without having a ‘Bandh’ . There was a communist government and there used to be a strike every now and then. ‘Bharat Bandh’ was called by all the opposition parties and at least in the state of West Bengal it had to be 100% successful. It indeed was successful. All restaurants, markets, public transport were closed. I had nowhere to go out for my meals after the breakfast. My land lady understood the situation. She assured me that I need not worry about my meals and she will make vegetarian food for me. It was a big relief for me.  This was such a funny and loving situation. A Bengali lady tried making a pure vegetarian meal for me with great love and affection. She probably didn’t realise that she had put a bit too much of mustard in the food which she served me with typical Bengali boiled rice. Now two of us were sitting at the dining table and Mrs. Sengupta was serving me like a mother, looking at me and smiling and requesting me to have more. All the while she was asking how was the food since she was not good at making vegetarian dishes. Imagine my plight when I was not able to even swallow that food. It was all perspiration for me and a sip of water every few seconds. But today after about three decades of this incident what I remember is her loving face, her smile and satisfaction when I told her that I liked the food. To shower an unknown person with so much love is not easy. I consider myself so lucky to have met Mrs. Sengupta. You are an important stepping stone in my life Aunty. I shall never forget your love and kindness.

Despite the luxurious life at Calcutta I felt an urge to return to Bombay and take a shot at Civil Services exams. It was a big decision and a big risk for me to leave a stable job and plunge into life of uncertainty. But I took that risk. As luck would have it, it boomeranged. I didn’t qualify for civil services. Now I had no job. Economy was in tail spin and government of India had to mortgage gold to run its show. To complete the story, my father got transferred out of Bombay. Only a person who has lived in Bombay can understand the plight of a young man who lived a good life at Navy Nagar, Colaba, suddenly without a roof on his head, no money, no job and a necessity to live in the city to hunt for a job. Those were very tough days for me. I had managed to make many friends in the area – bachelor or newly married officers of Army and Navy. I spent months with them sharing accommodation, cooking food, enjoying choicest drinks in different messes of the forces and also enjoying the food cooked by their newly wed wives. After few months I got a job and moved out of that area and took a bachelor accommodation in Andheri. Once again I fell sick in this big city of Bombay. I rushed back to Navy Nagar to the house of a young Major. The only connection that I had with him was that he had done his engineering from same institute as mine and was my senior. Once a senior, always a senior, a Sir, is the custom of our institute.  He and his dear wife took very good care of me. By the end of third day I was better and I could see irritation in the eyes of the wife. My Sir, was slightly embarrassed. I relieved him by leaving the place. But those three days that I spend there, in the home of an almost stranger, are precious even today. How many of us would do what this senior of mine, young Major did for me? I have never ever done anything like this. Sir, I can never thank you enough for being my stepping stone.

Without adequate money and a roof over your head a city like Bombay has always been a difficult place. This incident completely shook me up and I made efforts to relocate to Delhi, closer to my home and also slightly cheaper then. But then Delhi has its own challenges and its own culture. Unlike Bombay of those days where small flats were available on rent, Delhi was a city of Bunglows. There were no independent flats. Generally the top floor of a bunglow, called ‘Barsaati’,  was put up for rent. In almost all cases the entrance was common to the entire bunglow and the tenant was almost like a member of extended family. This also meant that to get a place on rent one had to appear for an interview with the entire family of the landlord. In this selection process the biggest disqualification was being a bachelor. For weeks I struggled but was unable to get a place to rent. Till one fine day I went to Greater Kailash Part – I and met Sharma family. After some introduction and interaction I met, once again a motherly lady,  Sharma Aunty. There was an instant like and chemistry between her and me. Two years that I lived there were one of my finest days. I was living with an extended family – Amma ji, Bauji, Aunties, Uncles, children. I made one of my strongest and most cherished friendship in this family. These bonds are so strong that it is almost as if it was yesterday. I remember the land line phone numbers by heart after more than a quarter of century of my leaving the place.  Motherly Mrs. Sharma, my Aunty, remained the same for me – ever loving and affectionate. In my journey of life this entire family has been a very big and strong stepping stone. I can neither forget nor repay their debt to me. May God bless them all.

As I write I remember many more stepping stones of my life. There would be even more which may have escaped my attention. And there are few rocks that continue to give me strength for an extended period even now. Today I thank them all.

 My Little Thought Of Life in this context is that in growth of every individual there are stepping stones. These are the people who enter your life at the right time, give their contribution and then fade away. But this contribution of theirs becomes an important stepping stone in your journey. When we say that we are self-made people, we must remember many who played a role in that, sometime silently and unobtrusively. It is not necessary that support comes from immediate family alone. There are many more silent hands and silent prayers that make you what you eventually become. Remember them, cherish them and try to be like them.