I was born low and managed to retain my status intact till today. People say a man is known by the friends he keeps. That is exactly what truth is and nothing but truth. So, I need not tell you about myself. I will tell you about my friends. My friends are all rickshawallas and their friends and their friend’s friends.

One woman used to work as part time maid at our place. Her name was Jalpana, -- a unique name; so far I didn’t find any repeat of it anywhere. Take any name, say, Kalpana, you will come across many Kalpanas out there. Similarly take any other name and try your luck. I bet you will never find another Jalpana.

She was a nice woman and we used to like her very much. She was very sincere and reliable. Once she brought some homemade pie for us. Though my wife -- being a hardnosed snob like her son -- didn’t touch even, I relished it thoroughly. Can you imagine how much love and affection went into the making of that humble pie?

When she joined us she had two daughters. The elder one was about seven year old and named Shobha. I used to call her Shobha De. Don’t get mixed-up with the famous Shobha De, whom you will always find either returning from Paris, or dashing off to Venice, or cruising in the Bahamas, or swirling exotic wine in some seven star-joint at Monte Carlo; or schmoosing around with big guns of the world. Our Shobha De is not that lucky. At this tender age she used to work with her mother in washing dishes and cleaning floor quite often in addition to looking after her younger sister while at home.

Some Indians, they say, are very generous in doling out free advice to any one without wasting any single opportunity. I too belong to that famed category. So, I used to advise her not to add any more members into the family. But they never listened to my advice, probably just because it was free. During the following two years they had two more daughters making a total of four. With four daughters she went back to her village home and never returned.

After about five years since then while having a ride in a rickshaw I got chummy with the rickshaw puller as usual. Soon we got busy in convivial tête-à-tête. In the meantime I rattled out a few questions. Such as, what is your name; where do you hail from; how long you are here; how is the life at Noida. He replied to all my questions well. My last question was, “How many children you have?”

“Seven daughters”, quick flied the reply.

“Seven daughters!” – My mouth agape.

Yes Uncle. Actually I had eight, one died. Seven are alive.

I remembered our Jalpana had four daughters. I asked him,”Do you know Jalpana, by the way?”

Why not, I am her husband. You have seen me many times dropping her in my rickshaw to your place.

So, you were aspiring to have a son?

What to do can’t help Uncle.

Why? You wanted to hand over any kingdom to him?

The big question is who will ignite the pyre when I die? Or else how I will get the salvation?

Overjoyed knowing the secret of salvation I didn’t proceed further in mundane discussion.