For any of you who knew me in my Indian life I lived on a so called "Farmhouse" in South Delhi surrounded by large gardens and some pleasant neighbours. My gardener was called Baju and he was employed by my landlords but sadly at such a small salary we had to surreptitiously supplement it every month. Baju came to work day in and day out -whether the outside temperature was 5C or 45C as it was sometimes. He swept an expansive garden free of leaves and branches and also trimmed hedges and kept everything in order. He did this day in, day out.
He was an unskilled and uneducated young man from Bihar, India's poorest state and he left behind a wife and twins when we first arrived. Within a year, one of the twins had died and another baby was on the way. He saw his wife and kids maybe once a year and sent them every penny he made. He came in for a cup of chai mid morning and was always surprised because I had the best chocolate biscuits on offer for dunking.He worked long hours, for not very much.So this is a tribute to his hard work, his lovely smile and his ability to complete his daily tasks. It takes strength to do so but also there was something more that I had not counted on.
Why on earth you might ask have I suddenly brought this up - simply because in Australia I am Baju and daily I head out to the not so expansive garden and sweep the blossoms that have fallen from the frangipani and the tibouchina. It is to my intense surprise therapeutic and calming
Some of the garden he looked after
Baju and Tara on Holi having fun with colours