“There you go, Peter, today’s pay. Don’t waste it.”
“Thank you, Mr Boss; I can now buy some paint for my cupboard. Have a good night, Mr Boss, I’m going home now.”
“Okay, Peter, see you tomorrow … same time?”
“Yes, Mr Boss, same time, same time: fifty-five past 8 o’clock in the morning.”
It usually took Peter an hour to get home as he navigated the bustling alleys and back streets of Kolkata, passing fruit vendors, beggars, monks, sewerage drains, smoking meats, motorbikes, street kids, temples, magicians, orphaned dogs-cats-and-rats; not to mention the myriad friendly faces ‘who just had to be smiled at’. Really, it was a journey of 1,000 “hellos”, with each greeting accompanied by a gentle, respectful bowing of the head. Peter was always conscious of being polite, which wasn’t at all difficult thanks to an innate fondness he had for his fellow man; a true philanthropist, you might say - if a very poor one. This gentleness flowed from the nurturing and modelling of his beloved grandmother - more on her later.