Walking in the street on my way to school, I see many people. Some I term as my friends, but
there are others, always others. The old tramp sitting at the edge of the road, asking for alms. The
dirty, ragamuffin Pashtun kid washing cars at the intersection. The guard at the school gates,
overseeing the procession of uniforms beside him with a stoic face and a reserved expression on
his serene, age-weathered features. And countless other people that I deemed too insignificant to
recount.
Until recently I behaved in what is now best described as an arrogant manner. But I began to see
things in a new light from last week
when I had to do a community project. To earn some much-
needed extra credit, my Humanities teacher assigned me a project; to document the life of one of
the junior staff. Thinking I was going to be bored, I trudged reluctantly towards the guard’s
cabin across the school grounds. As I slowly made my way to the shack, my breath fogging in
the chilly November air, the thought bouncing in my head was: “What am I doing this for? Its
probably a waste of time”. But something deep inside told me to preserve.
Looking longingly backwards at the warm school building, I tore my gaze away to look at the
dilapidated cabin that lay before me. I reached out and knocked tentatively on the stained
wooden door. The door opened with a creak, and the guard poked out his scrubbed , cold-
reddened face. I was finding the right thing to say when he gestured at me and said, “come on in,
son, you’ll get a nasty cold out in the chill.” I nodded numbly and walked inside, taking a seat on
an old stool.
After setting on a kettle of tea for us, Mr. Nadeem perched on the wicker chair across me and
studied me with intense grey eyes from under his bushy eyebrows.
“Now, son. How may I help you?”
To be honest, I was speechless. I had been expecting a rough person with no etiquette, not a man
with polished manners and such inherent politeness.
“Tell me about yourself!”, I blurted out, not sure of myself anymore and immediately hung my
head, abashed.
Nadeem regarded me with silent amusement, as if pardoning my outburst.
“Sure. Why not?”, he said
He then proceeded to spin me a most amazing web of anecdotes spanning his many years.
Stories about war; the medals of which he showed me with pride. Stories of how he raised his
sons, now studying abroad. And of his family. He spoke of them with a faraway gaze in his
twinkling eyes while a warm smile played across his mouth. I was engrossed, intrigued beyond
measure and yearned to learn more about the glorious life this man had lived; a life of pride and
joy and dignity.
After being occupied with this wonderful storyteller for half the school day, I was roused by the
school bell ringing in the distance. I got up, thanked Nadeem for the tea and company and bid
farewell with the promise of seeing him again the next day.
That evening, as I was working on my project, I kept thinking about Nadeem. How dignified he
appeared now whereas just that morning I had considered him to be just another person with no
significance for me. It was depressing for me, then, that so few people appreciate just how
dignified and great a person close to you is, and that many more don’t even acknowledge the
presence of such people amongst them.
Next morning as I was going to school, I again saw the tramp by the road. I did not view him as
insignificant anymore and impulsively asked him what he was doing. It transpired he had been a
great musician of his time who had gone from riches to rags. The passion with which he
recounted his paying of the flute and the slight tremor of excitement that shook him as he thus
spoke showed that a person so ruined in person was still proud and dignified in mind and
character.
Turns out the boy washing cars at the intersection also had a tale, of how his family migrated
from Afghanistan during the war years, how he was now the sole breadwinner of his siblings and
mother. He too, was dignified, in that he labored for his earnings instead of begging for them.
My friends, there are seven billion people on this planet. Seven billion lives people lead. All of
them unique and fascinating in their own way. Living in harmony is one thing.. Living together,
stepping into the future hand in hand with honor, respect and dignity extended to all members of
society, is another matter entirely. Look at those around you. Look past the present, past the
appearance and concentrate on what lies within, what the stories make these people up and how,
collectively, even more awe-inspiring tales can be spun together in the future. I have changed my
view of the world and those who live in it. It is high time that you too, change your perspective,
and make this a better world.
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