Lottery

This story is set at the mid nineties when Kolkata was still called Calcutta and Sealdah had some Bengalis running a couple of hotels and restaurants.

Provat, a hawker of gunny bags at Sealdah always bought lottery tickets in the hope that someday he might crack the jackpot. He was in his mid forties but the burden of feeding and well being of his family made him look much older than his actual age. His unshaved white beard, the un cleaned clothes, the increasing forehead were all signs of his miseries and his struggle for living.

He lived in a small room where a person could barely stretch himself. Had it not been Tenida, a local goon, he would have had to sleep on the footpath. His association with Tenida managed to get him a place where he could hide from the rain and the moon. His food was always from a nearby mess, which was cheap but equally unhygienic. Provat had no complains, except when his nephews weren’t getting good marks in their school. Though I never saw him getting drunked – Provat drank almost every day. Someday at the Country Liquor bar else it was Tenida’s room where he got a peg or two of Bagpiper in return of cleaning the mess after the party.

Provat had an elder brother – who was a lunatic, but before he headed off to the asylum, he married and had two children. Critics say that the children were fathered by Provat and so he cared them so much. Provat never criticised his critics as more important to him was the well being of his family which now had only his sister in law and his nephews. So Provat continued to toil hard and buy the “Bangashree Super” every week hoping for a miracle. Time flew, there were new hawkers and Provats lack of vision to diversify his business did not do him any good. Eventually by 2010 Provat had to wrap up his business.

By then I had left for South Africa and did not come back until recent when my cousin Babai decided to get married. All our cousins flew in to Kolkata for the marriage and we were celebrating the marriage to the lees. On the reception day Babai told us that we would get to meet old associations. He was creating suspense among all of us. It was noon and we gathered for the lunch. Suddenly Babai called us all and asked us to reel over the veranda. We saw an old man coming with specs in his eyes.

We did not recognize him until he came all the way to the hall and then to the dining space. It was Provat – the man who we lost since he packed off his shop in sealdah. I don’t know how Babai managed to get his contact but somehow he did and he managed to drag Provat to his reception too.

We all flocked him to listen about his whereabouts since the last few years.  His nephews graduated and they did it with flying colors. Soon after, they managed to bag a job in the Middle East. Now they have set up a small grocery shop for Provat in their village and send the home expenses every month. Recently, they have even employed a man to look after the shop so that Provat can spend his life relaxed at home watching television or listening to some music on the radio.

Wow – we were awestruck, the man standing in front of us was the same Provat who struggled day and night for the well being of his family. Now he lived a calm and peaceful life in his village relaxing to the soothing breeze. Provat has indeed cracked the jackpot. He had not one but a pair of bangashree super up his sleeves which paid off at the right time.