The Painter Babu

 Ramesh Kumar from New Delhi

Noticing Saheb Kumar Paswan ambling across the spacious open workshop area with his multi-colored folding walker  brought back memories of my late mother.

Way back in 1990, she had fallen in the washroom and broken her thigh bones in Mumbai. Post surgery with a steel bone as a replacement she needed the folding walker to move around.

Paswan-cum-folding-walker popped up mother on my mindscreen for a few seconds. Memories.

The sprightly Paswan was all smiles as we exchanged "namastes".

How did he break his haddi (bones)?

"Not planned," replies he sportingly. Great sense of humor. Yes, accidents don't send Short Message Service or SMS to the victim prior to their arrival!

He walks me to the accident spot at the workshop where his colleagues are busy "brown"ing the exteriors of a truck - part of annual ritual when peeled off paints are not eye-candy and clients - read, automotive giants whom these trucks serve - are getting more brand conscious and therefore insist of carriers of their precious vehicles also be spick and span. 

How about these OEMs showing same kind of enthusiasm to make the drivers of these vehicles also "brand ambassadors" by making their working conditions better outside their factory gates and en route by promoting on their own or in collaboration with other stakeholders the American style pitshops? For everything else, these OEMs blabbering, "Look at USA/Europe." Why not in these areas as well? These thoughts flash through my mind.

The "tak-tak" noise with the hammer kissing iron sheets somewhere in the vicinity of where are grouped. A pair of mechanics ferrying an empty fuel tanker, repaired and painted, to another safe location at the workshop. Their leather gloves remind me of a discussion I had with a CEO of another MNC-owned, fleet owning car carrier business enterprise a few hours ago on the "Personal Protection Equipment" (PPE) issue.

He, again, owning a workshop where his tractor trailers has safety concerns. Similar to what I am noticing at the Manesar workshop where I am conversing with Paswan.

Repaint work in full swing.  High steel stools and bamboo ladders used to reach heights. During a similar chore two months back, this painter from Luckysarai in Bihar, slipped. Rest, as they say,  is history.

He had spent time in a private hospital and then rested at home more than a month and now back at work.

The June heat coupled with the severity of his medicinal intake had taken a toll: there are boils on his upper lip.

Still Paswan is not fit to resume full fledged work. That does not bother him.

Sitting at home, says he, is   more painful than the injury.

"Requested (my seniors) to  allow me come to work. Whatever suits you, they told me. Am here," adds he.

His enthusiasm amazes me. Be more cautious in future at work, I advise. His job profile won't change, post accident. He nods. Those around him also shake their heads collectively.

"Want to see (the stitches)?" asks he innocently.

Why not?

He unzips his pant, draws down the left side of the trouser. There it is. The stitch marks. Almost a foot long vertical scar runs through with mini marks horizontally where the needle and  thread sew the slit open thigh flesh for surgery and subsequently bound them together for healing.

Several pairs of eyes watch the scar closely. Each one of us, mentally thanking our respective Gods that this did not happen to us! Natural human instinct.

Someone asks him: "When will they remove the iron part fitted into this thigh?" Valid question.

Paswan: "When it heals fully."

Really so?

My experience - rather my mother's experience was different.

A day after my mother's death, I revisit the Lodi  Road Crematorium in Delhi (June 26, 1996) to pick the bones and ashes for immersion at the Ganges later. Noticing the gleaming steel bone replica lying ash-covered, I bend down to pick it up gingerly and get my fingers singed in the process. It was hot still.

While the fire consumed mother's flesh, it could not do much to the steel bone that was part of her torso. I did bring that part of my mother home as part of her memory. Sure, must be lying somewhere at home with other memorabilia.

Memories again, linking Paswan's predicament with my mother's.  Experience and observation are the best teacher, I believe.

About the foreign element in Paswan's thigh, I have no idea. Will it be removed as he believes? Or will it remain permanently like my mother's? Clueless absolutely.

Paswan's cup of joy is full. He is able to amble with some support today. He is confident of getting 100% fit quickly.

"Malik spent so much on my medical," confesses the temporarily handicapped painter. Though he has no risk coverage in the form of accident insurance, his motor malik was his risk bearer. Lucky, he was to enjoy such a benevolent malik. Such bosses are rare in the Indian transport ecosystem.

With a color bandana tied around his head,  another  painter climbs the tall iron bench top to resume painting the top portion of the truck parked nearby.  It wobbles a week bit.  It does not matter.  He knows his Malik is there to take care of him and his family in case of any accident. Paswan watches him closely from the ground level, with one hand holding the folding walker and another clutching the tall iron bench. Safety got into Paswan's DNA and etched permanently perhaps. Good. 📌