No Goodbyes for You

Mohanan is no more. The quintessential errands boy has called it quits even before he could tell. He hadn’t mastered the art of bidding goodbye - he never had to. Omnipresence was his trait; no goodbye went well with his character. He was at my beck and call. Not just mine, he was Chempakassery’s own errands lad. The smiling kid of around 55 years, he preceded his arrival with a stink of arrack. He cycled into my heart with the cute childish smile half-hidden behind the whiskers on his unkempt visage. He, for me, had been Man Friday.

Mohanan is dead and gone. Not from my thoughts, though. Mohanan who, you tend to ask? He had been the Communist who never graduated from working class status. The hard drinking, beedi -puffing frail man, at least for me, was an ideal candidate to be the red bastion’s mascot. However, he had lost out in the race, not being able to shout slogans or hack opponents at will. He had been so neutral whenever he spoke on political affairs, even as held aloft his ideas sprinkled with fading red. He was all for Shashi Tharoor as Trivandrum’s MP for the single reason that Tharoor had relatives in a house he used to run errands for. Flag hues just did not matter.
Even as his kin, spurred by good education, rose from working class to be decision makers, Mohanan continued to pedal all the way from a city suburb around 13 kilometres away just to make sure my – and almost the whole locality’s – electricity and water bills are paid on time month after month. He came riding like a wake up call for forgetful hypocrites like me. The forgetfulness in me had always come owing to an aversion to stand in line to pay bills. With Mohanan around, why would I ever have to stand in a queue after all?

Not just the bills, Mohanan had been my SOS-target to any work that needed some effort. Be it cleaning the overhead water tank or getting a signature from the local councilor, Mohanan had to be summoned. I just realize how lazy I have been, just because a man who was ready to execute all my work with a smile just stood round the bend waiting for my call.

Mohanan is no more. He lived a happy man, enjoyed every bit of his life till his daughter started encountering marital discord. Fathering a girl child, grooming her and getting her married off to someone good is any man’s dream. Mohanan too had such a dream, and he executed all that was required of him to perfection. But then, months later, he must have realized that he erred in choosing the best husband for his child. That seems to have pained him no end. Adding to the misery, he was diagnosed with cancer. That came about as the proverbial nail waiting to be hammered into the waiting coffin. Mohanan had to give in.

The last time we met, he had his trademark smile on his face though pain was biting into him. I always believed this man would never give in. He was a fighter, armed with a smile. He had solutions to all problems. He was in the forefront to help me tide over any tricky situation. Running errands was not just what he did. He had been an answer to all queries. Mannenna (Kerosene) Mohanan had fire within in all the time. Alcohol added to his strength. The smile reflected his love for life. Life too loved him too well, it seems. And now, he has started pedaling off to an unknown land where life meets joy.

Death, now, has one more reason to be proud of. Death has just hijacked my errands man - my Man Friday. All that’s left of Mohanan is the rusting, rickety bicycle that till yesterday had ferried him to places and crowds where I dreaded going to.
Mohanan is no more. I know I’ll forget him soon. Whoever has left my side has been long forgotten. But, I don’t think Mohanan will go off from my thoughts. He never can. Every bill that gets delivered at my door step will have his signature and smile on it. Every time I need to visit the Corporation Office will make me long for Mohanan’s return. I wish he does.