The Last Gulab Jamun

Ram Kishore’s steps were fast-paced as he made his way through narrow lanes of Akshar Chowk. He was oblivious to the piercing evening mist, the rumble of vehicles, the stench of the open gutter that ran along on both sides of the lane or the horde of children crowding the thin lane. He walked heavily with a slight bend to his spine towards the oldest halwai shop in the town.

When Ram Kishore was a kid, his father took him for Sunday treats to the newly opened Halwai’s shop – Dularam’s Gulab Jamun. Instead of a shop, it was a confined concrete box with barely enough room to accommodate the halwai and his gulab jamuns that were served in patravali bowls. Ram Kishore’s father would buy him two pieces of hot and soft fried dough soaked in sugar syrup that would melt in Ram Kishore's mouth making him deliriously happy. 

These two pieces of mithai meant joy for little Ram Kishore, but for his father, they were more than just a sweet treat - they were cherished respite from the grind of his labor. These moments of solace with his son were an escape from his hardships at work. The endless childish babble made little sense but he loved the innocence and curiosity in his son’s voice. Often, on their way home, his father used to narrate stories of animals who could talk, taking him to a fantasy land.

But those treats stopped when Ram Kishore’s father passed away, leaving his mother to fend for both of them. At the sudden demise of his father, Ram Kishore witnessed his mother struggle to make ends meet. Some days, there was only one meal that he knew was for him to eat at the price of his mother’s hunger. The blissful days seemed to belong to another life, and the two pieces of gulab jamun seemed like a luxury he could no longer afford.  

His mother, Rukmani, saw to it that his education did not suffer. As in every Indian household, she had faith that only education could enlighten her son’s life. The worn-out shoes, the holes in his school uniform, and the second-hand books failed to deter his conviction towards his mother’s faith. He topped his school, won many scholarships, and left his hometown for further studies. He worked to support himself but stayed committed to his studies. His hard work paid off when Ram Kishore became the only boy in his university with a job offer from a reputed company.

A few years passed, and it was time for her son to settle down. By the concoction of fate, Rukamini did not have to search far when Lalita arrived to live in the neighbourhood. A plain young girl raised in a humble family. In the conversations that followed, Rukamani realized that under the veil of shyness was a witty girl. 

When she asked Ram Kishore to meet the girl, he did not conflict with his mother's decision. Ever since his father’s death, Ram Kishore admired how his mother’s will stood the test of time. Even when he was a child, he understood his mother fiercely protected him from challenges; he owed her his success. If she liked the girl, he would marry her. 

A meeting was arranged soon, and Ram Kishore along with his mother arrived at her house. He answered the questions asked by the girl’s family while he waited for the girl to enter into the room, and his life. When Lalita stepped into the room, Ram Kishore was caught off guard by the simplicity of her beauty. His mother had lied to him about Lalita being a plain-looking girl with clever laughter. Lalita was not plain, she was simple with a shadow of serenity reflected on her face.

By the time they married, Ram Kishore was completely in love for the first time in his life with his bride. In three years, Lalita gave birth to a boy. He looked at his newborn; and all of a sudden he realized he had stepped into his father’s shoes, looking at his son he suddenly understood his own father's efforts and choices as there was nothing he wouldn't do to ensure his child's life was happy. At that moment, Ram Kishore promised himself he was going to do the same for his son. He became an awestruck spectator of Atarth’s first steps, his first words, his first outing, and every little thing he did.

When Atarth was old enough, Ram Kishore took him to the city’s best confectionery and brought his son his first piece of gulab jamun. He watched Atarth savor the mithai while he savored the moment. These would be the good memories of him just as Ram Kishore had of his father.  

In his rosy life, fate rolled its dice again. When Atarth was six years old, Lalita was seriously ill. For months, no physician or doctor or medicine was able to cure her. When she died her skin was as radiant as the morning sky but her eyes reflected the exhaustion of her soul. One could tell she had given up the fight.

Ram Kishore looked at his son, pity in his eyes that no father would want to feel for his son. His heart cried for his son, for himself. When Lalita died she took the life of Ram Kishore too. He was angry at his life, and slowly, he started to direct his anger towards the little boy. To Ram Kishore, Atarth was a reminder of what he had lost and what he could have had – a completely happy family.

Rukmani moved in with her son, she started looking after the household and taking care of her grandson. Meanwhile, all that Ram Kishore did was work. Every night by the time he returned home, dinner was cold, and Atarth was fast asleep.

Rukamani grew concerned for her son.  She was not ready to lose her son while she was alive but her pleas to remarry were met with only one reply – “I am still a husband, I’ll remain married to her for the rest of my life.”

Rukmani passed away within a few years, and Atarth was sent to boarding school. 

Thirty-five years later

As days turned grey, Ram Kishore retired. First time in years, Ram Kishore found himself alone in his house. He strained his ears as if he could hear anyone speak to him but all that echoed was silence. The longer he sat in the void, the louder the ghosts of his past started to breathe - his mother’s concern, his father’s love, and his son’s innocence. 

In a few months, Ram Kishore decided to move back to his childhood town. He packed his bag and left. Ram Kishore inherited the house when his mother died. He never had the courage to sell the house. After thirty-five years, he stood before his childhood home staring at the locked door. His hands shivered as he unlocked the door and he stepped into déjà vu. Ram Kishore was a free-spirited, carefree kid who fell asleep listening to his father’s bedtime stories. The house hadn’t been dusted for years, and a stench of dead rodents greeted him; from the cracks of the walls dripped Ram Kishore’s memories. He was a successful man but now he saw the boy with the uncertainty of his dreams, uncertain of his escape from the wallows of darkness that sheltered him in the house on the passing of his father. A warm embrace reached out to him, the comfort of his mother’s arms pulling him out of the darkness towards light. Ram Kishore took heavy breaths as his heart started pounding against his chest. He stepped on the veranda now gulping air. He looked around, the once empty lands were now an array of concrete homes but despite that the unpaved road that led to his house remained unchanged. It was still the same with sparse sand covering the rounded protruding rocks on the road. The sight of the path calmed him. 

Ram Kishore spent the next few days settling in, he found a maid and cook for the convenience of his daily life. Ram Kishore had spent all his life trying to escape his tragedies. But this time, he had no place to hide. He has arrived full circle as he stood facing the loss of his parents, his wife, and in a way – his son. His Son.

The last memory he had of his son was when he visited Atarth at the boarding, four years to the day since he left. The boy had somehow managed to piece himself together after the loss of his grandmother. The moment he looked at Atarth, he noticed Atarth's face resembled Lalita's. At such a reminder of Lalita, Ram Kishore left without meeting his son. 

He wondered where his son was. Such an absurd thought for a father who had promised himself to take care of his son when he was born. 

With the passage of time, Ram Kishore wondered if his son was even alive. Did he marry? Was Ram Kishore a grandfather? Thoughts blurred his eyes and regret gripped him tight, suffocating his present.

He reached out to the boarding school to check if they might have his son’s address. As luck could have it, Ram Kishore’s son was one of the donors who funded the boarding school. His chest puffed with pride. 

That night Ram Kishore sat to write to his son, he stared at the blank page for a long time before he wrote and rewrote it again. Finally, he wrote inquiring about the welfare of his son and posted it. When no response came, he wrote again, telling his son about the life Ram Kishore had lived. In a few days, he wrote again, he asked for forgiveness for not being a part of his life. He wrote again asking his son if he was married. He wrote again and again and again and then he wrote one last time. This time he asked his son if he could come visit. Then a letter came addressed to Ram Kishore. 

Atarth had agreed to visit along with his wife and two grandchildren – a boy and a girl. Ram Kishore started imagining what it would be like to see his son after so many years. His heart ached from the passing years, he wasn’t there for his son, but not once the selfishness of his act occurred to him. Finally, his anticipation ended, his son was going to arrive in the evening, and he asked his cook to prepare a delicious meal. Now all that was left to do was to get the dessert – the gulab jamuns. 

Ram Kishore headed in a rush towards the same halwai’s shop his father used to take him to. Over the years the shop has changed, it no longer only sold gulab jamuns but a variety of sweets. The shop was crowded with people and his jitters were prolonged by the wait. By the time he reached home, the table was set for five people. He emptied the gulab jamuns into a bowl and kept it on the table. However, he couldn’t resist eating one gulab jamun – the softness melted in his mouth making him deliriously happy. That’s the thing with gulab jamuns, one cannot stop at one. So, Ram Kishore ate another one. 

They will be here in a few hours, he thought, setting the chair on the veranda, hopefully looking at the end of the unpaved road.

The next morning when the maid came, she saw him sitting on his chair on the veranda, with dead hopes in his eyes as he gazed on at the far end of the road with no breath left in his body. She went inside to look for his son he had talked about. The house was quiet and the dinner set on the table was cold. In his hand, he had his son’s letter. She was puzzled to find herself staring at a blank page. It would never dawn on her that Ram Kishore’s intense desire to see his son played a trick on his mind. Atarth never wrote back to him. This time the son had abandoned the father.

She turns to look at the bowl of Gulab Jamun with no inkling that Ram Kishore did fulfill his one last desire.