Taken as a noun, a being or thing, it is easy to understand the opposing positions about the reality or unreality of " fate." The truth however is that fate is an occurrence, a happening, with nothing behind it. And, as that, it is as real and undeniable as any matte of fact can ever be.
It's how, incidentally, my interest in lowly mattresses began. I mean, we all relate with our respective mattresses; perhaps more intimately than most other things in our lives. But take an interest ? Never, except when we at a shop, looking for one to buy.
Last year, in July end, we shifted home to another end of the National Capital Region ... in a ' mofussil ' area on the outskirts of Delhi, in Ghaziabad. Soon it was time to review the household inventory, and have a look at the wear and tear of each in the process. The kitchen exhaust needed to be replaced. The desert coolers required a raised stand. The several steel trunks, very usefully placed in the rooms, would have to be placed on low platforms to enable cleaning of the floor below them. The TV had to be wall mounted in the master bedroom. The utensil rack had be mounted at a height beside the sink...
And so we ambled over from one day to another, taking care of issues as came to our notice. The coir mattresses, ones we parents slept on, were 5 years old but had become somewhat uncomfortable for quite a while now. In fact, we'd hesitated for the longest at addressing a matter of mere discomfort, letting ourselves get around its uneven patches and becoming used to the rest. But it nevertheless stared at me, and dared, everytime I sat on my end of it and ruminated for just that brief moment before lying down. Until that morning, when I knew that it wouldn't do, that it must be replaced, no matter the paucity that had always plagued my life, about which but I'd always been so stoic about.
Driving the silver hatchback on the kilometer - long thoroughfare about which malls and shops were laid, I was light at heart if not actually singing, despite having depleted my savings account of its meagre holding. The animated if quiet encores came easy, more joyous and frequent, considering that I'd had those compositions on the music player for several years. At a showroom that had stacks of mattresses, I could see the salesman's surprise when I declared the price of a cheaper one as steep. Well, never were perspectives so removed, divorced and exclusive. But there was no way I could take on his, and I couldn't even try.
My rendezvous with Imtiaz was fated, because I saw it when I was not even looking for it, especially since I'd miss eight times out ten while peering intently for a particular shop or signboard. It wasn't a shop and not a signboard that boldly attains its respect at a place about its entrance. " Saira Mattresses " was a makeshift presence that you would pass by without noticing. A six-by-eight space on encroached land by the roadside, framed in canvas and plastic sheet, a row of stacks of thin gaudy mattresses folded twice at its front, a cot at the back for his old man, himself bent over behind an ancient sewing machine, and kids about... merged with the milling crowd that walked past, hiding the small signboard placed on the pavement extending the road edge.
But that mid - morning, when there were few on the road or beside it, I saw it loud and clear - SAIRA MATTRESSES. What however caught my attention was the smaller print : COIR MATTRESSES REFURBISHED HERE. I stopped right in front of the open entrance, and beckoned the bespectacled man trying to push the thread in the eye of the needle of that foot-driven machine. Opening the passenger door, I invited him in. There a palpable gasp of surprise and joy in the man's eye, an effect I then attributed to the air-conditioned wafts of air that hit sultry August sweat on his face. What transpired led to a relationship that is distant but deep and meaningful.
Imtiaz delivered a ' refurbished ' mattress pair that delighted, and continues to till this day. I came to know of his family, his traditional skills, and all the savvy else he absolutely lacks. It dawned on me that he can deliver a lot of value that all of us about are not even aware of, and would possibly not give a damn unless impressed upon in terms and forms they are accustomed to - advertising.
I decided to guide, fund and promote a line of " BREATHING HANDMADE MATTRESSES," to put Imtiaz's skills to good use, since he had little else to promote it with. I ordered for new mattresses, made to my specifications, and sat through the making process. It was tough work but the joy of having created something delightful was infectious.
The rest of the story continues ... through the unfeeling barriers of the world of business, market and money.
Driving the silver hatchback on the kilometer - long thoroughfare about which malls and shops were laid, I was light at heart if not actually singing, despite having depleted my savings account of its meagre holding. The animated if quiet encores came easy, more joyous and frequent, considering that I'd had those compositions on the music player for several years. At a showroom that had stacks of mattresses, I could see the salesman's surprise when I declared the price of a cheaper one as steep. Well, never were perspectives so removed, divorced and exclusive. But there was no way I could take on his, and I couldn't even try.
My rendezvous with Imtiaz was fated, because I saw it when I was not even looking for it, especially since I'd miss eight times out ten while peering intently for a particular shop or signboard. It wasn't a shop and not a signboard that boldly attains its respect at a place about its entrance. " Saira Mattresses " was a makeshift presence that you would pass by without noticing. A six-by-eight space on encroached land by the roadside, framed in canvas and plastic sheet, a row of stacks of thin gaudy mattresses folded twice at its front, a cot at the back for his old man, himself bent over behind an ancient sewing machine, and kids about... merged with the milling crowd that walked past, hiding the small signboard placed on the pavement extending the road edge.
But that mid - morning, when there were few on the road or beside it, I saw it loud and clear - SAIRA MATTRESSES. What however caught my attention was the smaller print : COIR MATTRESSES REFURBISHED HERE. I stopped right in front of the open entrance, and beckoned the bespectacled man trying to push the thread in the eye of the needle of that foot-driven machine. Opening the passenger door, I invited him in. There a palpable gasp of surprise and joy in the man's eye, an effect I then attributed to the air-conditioned wafts of air that hit sultry August sweat on his face. What transpired led to a relationship that is distant but deep and meaningful.
Imtiaz delivered a ' refurbished ' mattress pair that delighted, and continues to till this day. I came to know of his family, his traditional skills, and all the savvy else he absolutely lacks. It dawned on me that he can deliver a lot of value that all of us about are not even aware of, and would possibly not give a damn unless impressed upon in terms and forms they are accustomed to - advertising.
I decided to guide, fund and promote a line of " BREATHING HANDMADE MATTRESSES," to put Imtiaz's skills to good use, since he had little else to promote it with. I ordered for new mattresses, made to my specifications, and sat through the making process. It was tough work but the joy of having created something delightful was infectious.
The rest of the story continues ... through the unfeeling barriers of the world of business, market and money.
