remember this man?
I found another…
we have a flower delivery man. he is in his 60s. he pops a bag of malli poo everyday on our doorstep. for a small monthly fee.
last week he was limping and had a hanky bandage on his foot — a cut from a stone on the road, he told me. please see a doctor and get an injection, i requested.
“Let me see if i have time — my son’s wedding is coming up…” he told me, and dashed off.
yesterday when we walked back home from class — my sons and I were horrified. there was bloody footprints on the pathway, a rose dipped in blood, and every other step to our home had blood marks.
our watchman who came in this morning was wondering : “may be an animal was hurt in a fight — what’s with the blood stains all over?”
i knew what had happened. but i prayed i wasnt right.
but i was. it was the malli poo man. today, at 6 pm when he rang our doorbell, fresh with flowers.
He said with his typical cheerful smile : “My foot got cut on the road again. i tell you there was a bottle’s worth of blood that dripped,” he added with pride.
A part of me marvelled at his will and his unfazed attitude. But the wretchedness of it all made my stomach churn.
I gave him some money and told him to see a doctor and get an anti tetanus injection. “I am going to stop buying flowers from you if you don’t show me the prescription and the medicines he has given you. Please take rest and do come after a month or so…”
” Of course not. I’ll be here everyday. What will you do without malli poo?”
The boys and me have been talking about him for the last couple of hours — truly a profile in courage.