Once upon a time 25 years ago...

This incident happened when I was probably in 3rd or 4th standard. 

It was a more serene age back then in Dubai with no Burj Al Arabs or man-made islands around - nothing like the carnival it's become over the last decade. A dirham got you 3 chapatis and 10 dirhams got you an audio cassette. Yet, even then, at those times, there were obviously families struggling to make ends meet. As kids who shared the same bus, played, studied, compared He-man comics and struggled to put on our ties, we were blissfully oblivious to the financial demands we put on our parents with our school fees.

The first time it struck the guys in my class of this problem was when the class teacher called a friend of ours and talked to him in private. The second time this scene repeated itself a few days later, curiosity got the better of us all and we asked him what was going on. His voice cracked a little as he informed us that he'd been unable to pay the fees this term ( there were three terms in a year, if I recall correctly ) and so had been asked to inform his parents that he could not attend school unless he had the cash the next day. 

I remember feeling sad for him that evening after class... I wondered if he's have to leave school and where he'd go or what he'd do next. I was too young then to wonder how much it would break his parents' hearts or how they would feel.

The next day, he showed up back in school in the morning. For a brief moment, we were all excited. But, no, he had not paid his fees, he told us. While his dad had been asking friends across Dubai for a loan, noone had come through for him. We all returned back to our seats dejected. Somewhere into the third period of the day, our class teacher walked back into the class and spoke a few words to the teacher in the classroom. Their eyes were fixed on our friend and we all knew what was coming when she called him to come towards them. He too seemed resigned to his fate - a 7 year old child knowing he was going to have to leave school for no fault of his. He had packed his bag even while the two teachers were talking with each other and carried it with him as he went to meet them. 

I still remember he didn't cry... then.

The tears did start a few minutes later though as the teachers smilingly informed him that his fees had been paid by one of my other classmate's father, who'd felt gutted as he listened to the story the previous night over dinner. He had come over the next morning to the school and paid the fees for this child he had never met. His child, our friend sat quietly and watched events unfold that morning. Neither did he  seek the limelight that day, nor did his father demand a repayment of the fees later on. 

I still remember this as the moment I realised what the difference between being rich and being great was. Because that was the adjective that we seven year olds used that day - not "he is rich", but "he is great."  

I never met the man who paid the fees. But 25 years later, I still remember his selfless act.  

Vishu marks a new year, a new beginning for us all. It just felt like the right time to share this memory.

Don't run behind riches. If you're cool enough to read a silly blog like this, you're probably educated enough to earn enough for a good life. Even if you become a crorepati, in today's day and age, you're still just a one-in-a-million. You're still nobody to anybody who doesn't need your money. 

Instead, try to be the miracle man... the person who will be remembered even decades later by people who have witnessed the good deeds that you've done.

Happy Vishu everyone.