Press-wala

_{It is a late Sunday evening,}

_{I press my kid’s school uniforms,}

_{I rush my job -}

_{Monday will come by}

_{In a whirlwind, and I have to hurry}

 

_{When an old figure comes to mind}

_{After what, three decades!}

_{A slightly old man,}

_{Stands all day}

_{Under the shadow of a gulmohur tree}

 

_{Ramlalji, yes that was his name!}

_{(My memory amazes me)}

_{Ramlalji would press clothes}

_{For the whole para,}

_{Almost all day long}

 

_{An oven with charcoal,}

_{Two solid irons,}

_{One on the smouldering heat}

_{The other in use}

_{As he would toil all day long}

 

_{An old decrepit cycle,}

_{A worn-out table,}

_{Balanced with stone-chips}

_{And that was all in his}

_{Tiny, one man enterprise}

 

_{I could see him from the corner}

_{Of my mezzanine floor study room}

_{A silent companion}

_{On that quiet street}

_{Almost a watchman for all seasons}

 

_{Sapping the loneliness}

_{Of many an afternoon or night}

_{There he was standing,}

_{An incandescent lamp at night}

_{A big tarp at rain}

 

_{Ramlalji was always there}

_{If the little kid in me felt alone;}

_{Many a day I would wonder}

_{Did he even have a life}

_{Outside his daily duty?}

 

_{But he continued for years}

_{Ironing my school clothes}

_{Pressing the tie, the unseparated hanky}

_{Lodged in my school pants}

_{Free of cost}

 

_{Every Sunday evening, at 5 pm}

_{He would knock}

_{Clothes neatly pressed, stacked}

_{And wrapped in newsprint}

_{10 rupees bereft of inflation}

 

_{I would often feel}

_{That lingering warmth}

_{In those clothes,}

_{Freshly pressed}

_{And keep thinking}

 

_{How could he stand}

_{All day long?}

_{Did he not long for home?}

_{What about his children?}

_{Who would press their clothes?}

 

_{The years came,}

_{The seasons passed}

_{The clothes came diligently pressed}

_{Each Sunday evening}

_{Wrapped in newsprint}

 

_{An old man trading his life}

_{Choosing the dusty by-lanes of Calcutta}

_{Over his simple village life}

_{In far-away Purnia,}

_{Another unknown Kabuliwala}

 

_{Until one day,}

_{The school uniform was no longer needed,}

_{One could wear cool Tees}

_{And jeans at university;}

_{Until one day, I left home for good}

 

_{The clock ticks rather too loudly -}  

_{I stare at my pressed clothes}

_{And feel ashamed}

_{I go through them}

_{All over again}

 

I touch the pressed clothes

_{And feel a familiar sense}

_{Of Home, of warmth}

_{An incandescent lamp}

_{An assurance in all weather}  

 

_{I look outside my empty window -}

_{Somewhere, perhaps}

_{Ramlalji still trades his life for one rupee}

_{Pressing clothes,}

_{Standing all day long…}

 

_{1st November, 2026}

_{Inspired by true events}