Balloon-baba
Five year old Asmi was unusually anxious today. Dressed in a gorgeous pink dress that her Dadi had gifted her for Diwali a couple months back, with a matching pink hairband, baby-pink socks and sparkling red shoes, she was looking like a princess. She was dressed for her best friend’s birthday party across the town. She couldn’t wait to meet all her friends — there would be games, shiny decorations, gifts, and cake! Her parents were hurriedly getting ready in the bedroom. She heard her dad say a few times that it was already 5 o’clock and they are late. All that meant to her was that they were about to leave for the birthday party imminently. She was flitting nervously between the bedroom and the front balcony, staring down the street outside as far as her eyes could see every time she reached the balcony. “Why is he not here yet?”
Balloon-baba was a really old man. He always wore light gray kurta-pyjama with pointy, unpolished black shoes and sported a flowing white beard. Soft, loving gaze and a cherubic smile on the face was his trademark demeanor. About a dozen balloons tied with long plastic strings on the handlebar and a tiny helium tank mounted on his rusted black bicycle’s carrier completed his visage. Nobody had ever seen Balloon-baba without his trusted black bicycle, complete with the balloons and the helium tank. Neither was he ever spotted actually riding the bicycle. One could wonder if he was walking the bicycle or the other way around. He walked slowly, so slowly that it was easy to speculate if he started from his home, wherever it was, early in the morning to reach Asmi’s neighborhood by 5 pm everyday. He did take breaks — if it were raining outside, or if the weather turned too hot or too cold, it was fair to assume that Balloon-baba won’t show up that day.
But it was not raining outside today and it was neither too hot nor too cold. He did come a few minutes late occasionally. “He must have gotten caught up at the previous neighborhood with lots of kids wanting to buy balloons,” so had reasoned Asmi’s mommy in the past. Asmi did not want today to be one of those days. She wanted to buy her balloon before she went to the birthday party. She wanted it in her home when she got back from the party. She was restless because there was no finding Balloon-baba. “Why is he not here yet?”
Asmi’s dad was ready now. He was already out of the house, gently dusting their family car, feverishly checking his wristwatch every few minutes. He disliked being late, something he kept lecturing was not only disrespectful to the hosts but also to one’s own soul. Asmi never understood what he meant by that. All she knew was that mommy was in trouble for not being out of the house already. But she didn’t want her mommy to come out anytime soon. Balloon-baba wasn’t here yet. Asmi was out of the house now, circling the car, peering down the street, waiting for him.
Asmi’s dad was in the car and was asking her to get into the backseat when her mommy came out, looking all pretty in a beautiful blue saree, wearing fancy sandals on her feet, a big red bindi on her forehead and light lipstick on her face. Asmi had once asked her mommy why she wore lipstick; “to look pretty,” was her response. From that day on, wearing lipstick meant being pretty for the 5 year old. Back to the present, Asmi knew that her vigil for Balloon-baba was soon going to come to an end and she had to leave without getting her daily balloon from her favorite Balloon-baba. She started crying.
It had started about a year back. Asmi was 4 years old when she was playing tag with her dad in their front yard. Giggling, running, tumbling, falling, getting up and running again, Asmi was having loads of fun. Her dad had just returned home from office, which was her most favorite time of the day. “Not that mommy was not entertaining, but she won’t run and chase me like dad,” went through little Asmi’s head. And then there he was — Balloon-baba — with colorful helium balloons tied to the handlebar of his trademark black bicycle, slowly lumbering along on the street near their house. Asmi had stopped running, and was staring at the colorful balloons. Her dad knew instantly; he picked her up in his arms and walked over to the man with the long, flowing white beard. His already happy face had lit up with an even broader smile when he saw Asmi for the first time. It was pretty obvious he loved little children. Asmi had picked a light green balloon for herself that day. A pink one the next day and a blue one the day after.
Asmi started calling the old man Balloon-baba. He would come by every day around 5pm and she would buy one balloon. When dad wasn’t home, mommy would bring Asmi outside to get the balloon. It only costed 10 paise but the happiness it provided their bundle of joy was priceless, thought her parents. The first day Balloon-baba did not come was a disaster, for Asmi. It was raining unusually hard. Asmi was waiting. He hadn’t come. She hadn’t gotten her daily dose of balloon. She had bawled all night before she got exhausted and slept, but not before extracting the promise of getting 2 balloons the next day. 2 balloons is what she got, when Balloon-baba came the next day — one pink and one yellow — and she learned from him that he cannot come on the days when it rains or if it is too hot or too cold, for he was an old man. He had said that with so much love that she believed every word Balloon-baba said. He had even extracted a promise out of her that she would never cry again should he not show up one day. Asmi had kept her promise, until today. Today was different. Different because she was going to miss her balloon not because he didn’t show up but rather because she won’t be there to get it when he comes.
“But there will be so many balloons at the birthday party Asmi,” said her dad, in a very obvious, logical voice. He had understood why his little angel was crying. “But those are not Balloon-baba’s balloons,” they knew precisely what Asmi was thinking. Truth be told, both her parents had increasingly grown fond of Balloon-baba as well. Not probably to the extent Asmi did, but they looked forward to seeing his genial face every evening. There was something very serene about Balloon-baba. It was very obvious that he was not always poor. His mannerisms and demeanor exhibited a certain class. He always spoke softly and with a smile on his face. He was never in any rush and spent as much time as a child needed to select his or her color of choice. There were plenty of times when he’d start filling helium into a balloon, only to stop mid-way and change the balloon because a kid wanted a different color. Never did he charge anybody any extra money for a burst balloon. In fact, Asmi’s dad was once overcome with gratitude when Balloon-baba refused to take money from him for making an extra balloon for Asmi when she accidentally let go of her first one. He was such a thorough gentleman. “One day, I shall ask him about his story,” kept thinking Asmi’s dad.
Balloon-baba entered the frame suddenly. It wasn’t clear who was happier— Asmi or her parents. Asmi was delighted for sure, jumping out of the car and already half-way to the old man; the parents more relieved probably. One look from her and the Balloon-baba spilled his beans — he was stuck servicing a birthday party at the other neighborhood and was almost out of all his balloons. But he had saved 2 for Asmi, his favorite customer. She’d take them both, of course. He refused to take money that day, saying that he already earned a lot from the party next doors. Asmi’s dad knew that was simply not true; he knew that Balloon-baba would probably have given away several free balloons at the party, as is his wont with kids. But he knew he won’t win the argument today, so he let it be. The happiness on his child’s face, with her cheeks back to being their normal shades of pink made everything else irrelevant. “One day, I shall ask him about his story,” thought Asmi’s dad again.
The three of them got back into the car but not before Asmi released her helium balloons inside the house through a window her mommy had cracked open and then shut tight. Her Balloon-baba balloons would be waiting for her when she got back from her best friend’s birthday party. By the time they were ready to leave, Balloon-baba was trudging away slowly, probably heading home early for he was out of balloons for the day.
