Lessons from a parking lot

 

My friend gets diabetic retinopathy treatment at an eye hospital in Dwarka, Delhi. It’s a long treatment involving frequent visits to the hospital for routine check-ups and retina injections. On the days when his eye gets an injection, it needs to be patched under a dressing for a few hours, so he isn’t able to drive back to the town. On such occasions usually I drive him to the hospital in his car.

He understands that I prefer to use my time in reading and writing. So keeping me away from my study table for a whole day makes him embarrassed sometimes. That shouldn’t be a problem at both ends because what else is friendship. If someone can’t do even this much then he is a mere acquaintance. And helping someone continue reading the lovely book of life is always better than reading a few more pages in a book.

It’s a big, glass-fronted hospital, imposing like a corporate office. Rich people come here for treatment as one can guess from the series of big cars parked in the parking lot.

The other day we reached there early in the morning. He has an early appointment; before the normal opening time. The parking lot has a few cars, the rest of parking slots defined by yellow lines are vacant. There is a big car parked wrongly covering two slots. Many slots are empty on both its sides. I know the value of space—there are fights over parking space in Delhi, which sometimes result in people killing each other—so I’m parking by its side, leaving about three feet space between the cars.

The parking guard is frantically waving hands trying to guide me to park the car within the next slot because by adjusting to the first mistake I’m adding to the series of wrongly parked cars partially occupying their slots and transgressing into the next.

In my opinion lines don’t matter as long as there isn’t too much or too less space between two cars parked side by side. So I park the car as I deem it fit—partially occupying two slots, in balance with the first mistake, even though there is just three feet space between the two.

As I come out I see a big cloud of disappointment on the guard’s face. I tell him that if I park the car in the next slot, it will leave many feet of space between the cars and this space isn’t sufficient for any car so it will be a loss of space. The same will be the case on the other side. It means one car will occupy two slots leaving big gaps on both sides.

‘I understand but in this way the entire series will be broken,’ he points to the rows of yellow lines, ‘and they,’ he points to the people high up there on the swanky floors above, ‘have big issues with it. They say I can’t get even the cars parked properly.’

‘O come on, it hardly matters… such a small issue,’ it casually escapes from my mouth. I try to smile at him and cheer him up but he doesn’t smile, instead I can feel utter helplessness blanketing him.

My friend’s car is a big one and incidentally I’m wearing formals today. He thinks I’m a bada admi with a big business or job. I sense that he is trying hard to take in a big draught of belittling insult; a situation where a better placed person can defy his little authority in his small job space in the parking lot. ‘That’s how it is! Who cares? Big cars, big people!’ he sighs resignedly.

My friend’s appointment time is nearing fast. Just a couple of minutes left. And before that the paperwork has to be completed at the reception. So we just rush in leaving him there in a sad mood.

Leaving my friend in the care of doctors, I come out. I see the guard sitting on his chair. A short, very frail man in mid fifties. I flash him a smile. He doesn’t smile back. Probably he thinks that I’m mocking at him from my position of a more privileged guy.

Usually I’m in my shabby track pants, rumpled shirts and worn out slippers. When they see me in my small dented car, the parking guards are very confident in handling me and show me the right path as if thinking, ‘He isn’t a bada admi…must be someone almost equal to us.’ Here bada admi means a rich man only. What other definition a poor man can have? But today the car is big and I’m wearing decent clothes. So he thinks I’m a bada admi teasing him after showing him his lowly aukat.

I go to him and say, ‘Sorry, we were in a hurry! Now we have all the time to do it exactly the way you want it.’ He is surprised a bit but gets onto his feet with a nice sense of duty to his job. I feel respect for this man as we walk towards the wrongly parked car to correct things. He is doing his job with dignity and commitment.

This time I follow all his instructions. A parking guard has a nice manner of moving his hands giving you instructions about directions. You have to trust him. His hand movement has confidence now. I park the car exactly the way he wants. And this time when I smile at him he smiles back. Who would withhold your earnings from your smile?

It feels so good to bring a smile to someone. In hurrying I had given him a grimace. Now I’m lucky to bring the smile back. What a dedicated man—parking cars exactly between the lines!