"Special Kumar?" I asked, astonished a bit.
"Not special sir. Peshal"
"Well you do look special" needless compliment given that I hardly knew him.
Peshal Kumar was our driver designate after the original designate, Habib from Bangladesh, dropped us at the National Museum at Doha and then just disappeared after handing over the reins to Peshal.
Now the "us" here are all my destiny friends, as Qatar Airways dropped us at Doha while ensuring that all of "us" missed our respective connections. Since the airlines had already made up their mind to make us all the guests of the Kingdom for a day - complete with hotel, food voucher and a transit visa - we had no option but to oblige.
Wyndham Royal Heritage was a very nice sounding hotel and even though we didn't exactly know what the 250 Qatari Riyals would buy us in the form of food, it felt like a decent deal given the circumstances. All of us happily got into a minibus driven by a charming old Filipino. I forgot to get his name but he was also one of the many among us who left family in their homeland (Philippines in this case) while, quite cheerfully, leading a single worker life in a foreign land (Doha here).
"I was leading a single life in Macau but my wife sent me off to Doha" the Filipino man explained jokingly. Macau, being the Las Vegas of the east, was certainly no place to leave a single husband by himself. So thought the smart wife. Doha, now that's the right place. Nonetheless we were dropped at the Hotel by our man Filipino.
The decisions life forces upon us !!
Back to Peshal Kumar then.
Peshal had a look on his face that made me assume that he lost the sense of wonder for the world around. Now that happens when life takes one thru the real hard path where a man is beaten, cheated and weighed down by a demanding family. I was pretty certain that Peshal would have an interesting past.
"Why did your parents name you Peshal? Does the word have a meaning?" I prodded some more.
"I have no idea sir" - there an answer that betrayed the lost ability to wonder, I thought.
Peshal was very knowledgeable and had a refined sense of grasping. He hardly ever misunderstood a question even though his English wasn't the best and his education wasn't beyond 10th grade in Nepal. Maybe he wonders in private.
Upon some more chatting, Peshal did open up a little about his life. While he was on the right track until his 10th standard in Nepal, the education system and some unfortunate circumstances forced him to try things out in Surat, India. By the time he went back, he lost the opportunity to study further in Nepal. He then moved to Malaysia to try his luck, but was done in by circumstances again. And he finally found some solace in Doha thanks, apparently, a good friend of his from Bangladesh.
"I give up work and rush back to Nepal to be with family whenever I feel like. My elder son is in 9th grade and younger one is a baby of six years"
A wonderful father and husband, no matter his sense of wonder, I concluded.
The five of us motley bunch went around Doha - the Museum,Islamic Center, some remnants of the recently concluded FIFA event, royal palaces and, of course, the Souk.
It wasn't the time to shop or eat, being the Ramadan time. Nonetheless the company was great and special was Peshal.
As we got out of the car and finished paying Peshal for his services, I asked him for a picture. He obliged gracefully. Before leaving I prodded him one last time
"Are your parents alive, Peshal?"
"Yes sir"
"Would they know the meaning of Peshal? Can you check?"
"They will have no clue too, sir"
