DR.IBRAHIM MASOODI
Years ago as a young medical student at GMC Srinagar, I eagerly looked forward to my weekend trip home to Sopore.
I used to wait for Saturdays impatiently to visit home.
On a sunny Saturday after a quick lunch, I grabbed my bag and made my way to the bus stand directly from the Anatomy dissection hall .
I walked from college via shortcut through Karn nagar crematorium and within few minutes reached the bus stand to catch the RTC bus at 4.30pm
It used to be a non-stop service, known for its punctuality, departing precisely on time regardless of the number of passengers.
The golden rays of the sun cast long shadows over the bustling Batamaloo bus stand, a hub of movement and stories.
I sneaked my way through busy market at the bus stand and walked to the kiosk, purchased my ticket.
With small white ticket in hand I began searching for my bus.
Nearby, I spotted a middle-aged man in a khaki uniform—the attire of a bus conductor.
Without much thought, I addressed him in Kashmiri, “Wasta Bus katou?”(Where is the bus?)
He turned to me very politely and gently and said, “I am a government employee, the head of my family, a father, and a father-in-law”
My children love and respect me, and they would not like to hear anyone speak to me in such a tone.”
No one has ever taught you good manners.
I was stunned.
Frozen in my tracks.
His words struck me like a bolt of lightning.
I had not intended to be disrespectful, but my casual tone had made it seem so. Realizing my mistake, I immediately apologized.
My heart sank with guilt—I should have spoken with more courtesy and respect.
With a heavy heart, I boarded the bus and found a seat on the right side, as I always preferred.
I loved watching the apple orchards roll past, especially when the bus curved through the S-shaped road after Pattan Market.
But that day, my mind was clouded sad and guilty.
The conductor’s words kept echoing in my head, making me reflect deeply on my behavior.
As the journey progressed, he moved through the aisle, collecting tickets. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
His lesson had already been imprinted in my soul, shaping my understanding of respect and dignity.
In that moment, I learned a lesson far more valuable than anything found in textbooks: never underestimate anyone based on their job title.
Respect is universal, and it is not dictated by one’s position in society.
Unfortunately, Class IV employees often do not receive the respect they deserve.
Unless one is a peon of someo ne influential in the secretariat or an important officer, people tend to overlook or even disregard .
I recall how we, as students, were often wary of peons like Mr. Javid and Mr.Hasan (names changed), who worked under our professors in various departments.
Their authority was not derived from their job title but from their proximity to power.
Years later, when I joined my postgraduate studies at SKIMS, one of my senior advised me, “Ibrahim, keep good relations with the paramedics; it will help you.”
The words resonated deeply.
I made sure to treat every staff member, especially the Class IV employees, with kindness and sincere deep respect.
I meant it by my heart.
Their reciprocation was heartfelt. I never found myself short of vials in the early morning hours when collecting blood samples, thanks to Mr. Habib (name changed), a paramedic who ensured I had everything I needed.
Now decades later, I still hold onto that invaluable lesson I learned from the bus conductor my great teacher whom I want to address today with respect and love
Respected Sir , I love you
I owe you a heartfelt apology and my eternal respect.
Your words changed me, and through me, they have touched countless others.
You taught me the first true lesson in humility, and for that, I am forever grateful. May you always be blessed.
The author can be reached at ibrahimgastro@gmail.com
