“Look! Look at his shoes,” someone said.

“I don’t understand what today’s fashion is, you just wear what you want to, no matter how ugly the colour combinations and the designs are. Now look at him,” another voice joined in.

“One should at least take one’s age into consideration while shopping,” a third person was heard adding.

On hearing such comments, Mr Rauf’s body had gone stiff, his eyes became wet with tears — tears of joy and satisfaction. First he wanted to turn and answer the ignorant ones who were passing such remarks, but then he remembered that these people were clueless about the story behind those orange joggers.

His mind raced back 20 years: he was standing outside the servant quarter of the large house in which he worked as a gardener. The quarter was what he called home. He had left his village two years, back and come to live in the city with his wife and son. A kind man had offered him to work in his house’s garden. The 30-year-old Rauf had taken residence in his new master’s servant quarter.

The entire day, Rauf worked in the lawns and in the afternoon and the evening, he made sure the grounds were secure until the security guard came on duty for the night. The master of the house was rich and gave his staff handsome wages. Rauf sent some of the amount to his parents in the village, while the rest was spent in buying necessities for his wife and son. Months passed and he lived a life of satisfaction.

Then one day, Rauf’s master called him and asked, “Rauf…,” the old man said. “Done with today’s work? I saw the chrysanthemums in the morning, splendid work old boy, splendid!”

“Thank you, sir,” said the humble gardener.

“Tell me how are you doing, your family and you?”

“Thank you, for asking, we’re all happy, sir.”

“How old is he now, your son?”

“He turned four, some months ago, sir.”

“Hmm… four,’ said the man thoughtfully. “And what have you thought about his future?”

“Sir, when he turns a little older, we’ll send him to work at a car mechanic’s shop so he could learn a skill or two.”

“No, Rauf,” said the master in serious tones. “Getting your son educated is your duty!”

“Educated sir?”

“Yes, he needs education, every human being does. You’re his father, you must enrol him in a school; I’ll take all the responsibility of the expenses.”

“No, sir,” said Rauf in a dignified manner and his master raised his eyebrows. “Sir, he is my son and I will buy his books and pay his fees. It is my responsibility.” A smile appeared on the old man’s face.

And then came the time when Haris started going to school. Rauf would stand outside the white door of the servant quarter, waiting for his wife to bring their crying son outside so he could be taken to school.

Haris would stand beside Rauf, looking at the ground and then the man would lift him and carry him to school in his arms.

Haris did not do well at school. He befriended children who did not like studying and spent the time playing. Mr and Mrs Rauf were disappointed. Their son’s academic performance broke their hearts. They thought of discontinuing his studies, but their employer was keen on making the boy gain education till grade 12 at the least.

Years passed, and Haris neither got good grades nor did he participate in extracurricular activities. Gradually, his parents lost hope. However, when he was in grade six, they noticed major changes in his personality. Most of the time, he was seen with books in his hands. He started borrowing books from his school’s library. He did not play as much as he used to, but he worked hard and concentrated on the sports played in school. He became a member of his school’s basketball team. Mr and Mrs Rauf were naturally overjoyed but they did not know what had brought this change.

It was when they went to see their son play in a match that they came to know the cause of Haris’ sudden interest in studies. It was his Urdu teacher, Mr Mujahid. He was a middle-aged man with an impressive personality. Haris wasn’t his only student who had left behind his careless self — Mr Mujahid’s enlightening ways had had an impact on every one of his pupils since he had first stood behind the teacher’s dais.

Now, the Raufs’ outlook on life was different. Every day looked sunny and every night felt peaceful.

Haris passed grade 12 with good marks and decided to continue his studies. He studied on and got a Master’s degree in Urdu literature. By that time, Mr and Mrs Rauf were over 50 years of age, but the man still worked in his master’s gardens. The landlord was now considerably old, and was confined to a wheelchair.

The day Haris received his degree, he went straight to the man who had ensured he got educated.

“Haris, come here dear boy,” the old man breathed.

“Sir, thank you so much. I’m very much obliged to you. This degree that I received today, it is because of you sir. If you had not forced my father to send me to school, I would have been fixing some car engine now. Not that there’s anything bad about doing that, but you fulfilled my right to education, and I thank you for that once again.”

“My boy, if you’re happy today, I’m happier. Telling your father to get you educated was my job and I’m glad you gave me the chance to be proud of myself and of you. Now, son, go to your parents, and spend time with them.”

Haris softly hugged the master and hurried towards the servant quarter.

It was a night of celebration for Mr and Mrs Rauf. They prepared a lavish dinner and a couple of guests called on the family. The master of the house had been invited too. Everyone ate, talked, laughed and spent a memorable evening.

A few weeks later, Haris had gotten a job as a schoolteacher and they celebrated the joy with a little gathering again. Mrs Rauf kept weeping tears of joy and Mr Rauf couldn’t stop smiling. When the guests had left, Haris brought two gifts for his parents. He gave one to each. His parents looked astonished.

“Don’t worry. These are gifts for you both. Today, I was given a cheque by my employer. He’s sure I’m going to serve the school well.”

Both the parents were in awe. They didn’t know how to react to such happy moment. “Won’t you look at your gifts?” asked Haris.

The couple then unwrapped the gifts; Haris had bought a shawl for his mother and a pair of bright orange joggers for his father. The joggers’ colour was not attractive, but they were of high quality.

Mr Rauf looked down again at the present. A smile spread across Mr Rauf’s face. His heart filled with pride for his son. The next day, he wore his new bright orange jogger when he was going out. Soon he was standing near the gate of a park. The orange colour against the grey background of the track burned his eyes. It was a strange sight. He looked around and received stares of judgement, but this time, he responded with a smile. He understood how ignorant the people around him were. They didn’t know the story of the joggers. Mr Rauf thought of how lucky he was to have such a kind employer and a dutiful son like Haris.

Mr Rauf realised that people pass comments about things which are none of their business and the comments are often demoralising and disheartening. He learnt that giving no heed to such people and their opinions was the best thing to do in such a situation because worrying about your impression on such people is absolute foolish.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 8th, 2023