THE RUSSIAN MAN

It was a usual Wednesday day. I was heading home from college and stopped by my go-to spot for boiled eggs. The vendor usually has them ready by 3:30, he knows my timing.

But that day he was late. While waiting for the eggs, there was a man waiting next to me for his order as well.

The man must be of my dad's age around 50, stood there swaying like a tired banyan, moving on each side every couple of seconds.

His attire was professional, but wrinkled. A blue checkered shirt tucked into faded denim. Something told me he didn't change his outfit for more than a couple of hours.

He struck up a conversation, saying this exact words, "How are you." I use a full stop purposely, I knew he wanted me to ask him back, how he was. His voice was like a bicycle tire rolling on gravel while raining, sharp and rough.

I said I was doing beautiful, and followed it with a how are you. Without a second thought his next few words were. "I am from Russia.". I didn't even want to talk to anyone new that day, but this man intrigued me. Before I got to respond with anything, the man put his hand, not the biggest hands I've seen on a man, yet strong.

"What's your name?". "Krish." I replied. "[^1]Vikram"

"I am here to just close off some open tabs. I studied medical in Russia and found a beautiful Russian lady, married her at 27 and have 2 kids now." He checked his wrist for time, even though he had nowhere to go.

"My lady wanted to settle down in Russia, and I had no objection to it, so we Kazan, where our college was.

My family back here? Cut me off. Haven't been to India more than twice in the last 25 years. I have no family except for my brother whom I talk to occasionally every year or two. That's it.

He paused, pulled out a polaroid of his wife from his wallet, had some water drops which faded the picture, plausibly from his own tears.

Over the years my wife and I have had a lot of fun, which has made it hard for me to save any money, she doesn't work, she's a stay at home mom now."

At this point I thought he's asking for money. I still haven't said anything more than the few words I had said.

"My wife thinks I am here in India staying at a hotel." he continues.

"To be honest, I am going from restaurants to dormitories to standalone buildings and asking people to let me stay the night, and in turn doing small chores they assign me." The man felt like he's going to break down anytime. Every time I looked around to see my surroundings because what he was saying was heavy, one could tell what he's saying is the truth and I couldn't hold eye contact as his eyes were red, raw like he'd drown himself in something stronger than regret, he pulled my arm to gain my attention. He was calm, but like a dog too trained-well for how sharp its teeth looked, I just couldn't seem to relax in front of him. I checked my surroundings, yet never took eyes off of him.

By now point the vendor came, I told the man to wait a minute as I order my food.

Once the vendor came, his voice fell to a hush, almost like he was trying to spitting out secrets laced with consequences. He pulled me aside a bit and kept going.

"My wife cannot know where I am. To her, I am a man who has money, somebody who owns a home in Goa, India, and some petty cash to spare." "The business I am here for is nothing but to get away from his family in Russia for some time.". He wiped off the bug that had landed from the tree above.

It had been about 12 days and he was in India for if I remember correctly more 25 days.

"I couldn't stay in Kazan as my wife's family is big and spread across Kazan."

I asked him, can you not go to any other city. He mentioned, "No, it is winter over there and I can't stay outside. And Russia is overall more expensive than India. And coming to India, I get reminded of my childhood."

The reason he came to Mumbai, India was because that's where he grew up. He lived closer to his childhood home, roamed the streets like he was a teenager again and felt lively again.

His eyes for the first time in the 10 minute conversation flickered up with some joy. It was hard to make out, like a smile on a statue.

In that instant, I had a million questions running in my head. Before I even spoke a word he murmured to himself to what felt like, why is he still listening. He first said thank you. Again, before I ask him why he mentioned, "This is the first time I talked to someone in the past two weeks."

The man wasn't tall. His hands, the carved-like jaw and a strong stature, like he could throw a good punch. Food in my hand, I listened to the man, curious, with some creeping disgust. This man is coming closer to me as he spoke every word.

The vendor glances over every chance he gets clearly wanting to say he's been hanging out around here for about a week. In my mind, stakes rise, is this man more than just lonely.

"You see these eggs. In Russia my wife cooks us all eggs for breakfast almost everyday. All of us love it." It was clear that the man loved his wife. It became clearer to me that he didn't want his wife to see him suffer, that is why he decided to leave for a few days.

I questioned with curiosity, what must have he told that he's going for a long time, 5 weeks. He said, it's just some work with my family in India. My eyebrows shot up, my lips parting in a well duh should've known.

I pictured my dad vanishing for 5 weeks, fighting silent battles, too worn down to show his pain. The thought of this man walking away from his family to recalibrate, it broke something in me.

He finally confesses he's down to his last 1,348 rupees of cash, I don't know why he was so specific. He saw me pull back a little, and finally smirks and says don't worry I'm not looking for money form you.

He drew a slow breath, shoulders squaring as if he’d suddenly remembered the doctor he once trained to be. “Listen, Krish,” he said, voice steadier now, almost fatherly. “First. Travel. See the world while your legs are strong and your passport still feels like a blank notebook. Borders shrink fears.”

He lifted two fingers. “Second, have fun in your youth. Real fun. The kind that makes you laugh when you’re old and half‑broken. But”, a third finger joined the list—“save enough so those memories don’t become debts. Regret is the one bill no bank will forgive.”

A fourth finger: “And never sever family. Disagree, wander, disappear for a season if you must—but don’t cut the cord. I did, and every night the silence rings louder than any phone ever could.”

He looks at his watch, a good Casio timepiece, asks me where I can pawn it. I directed him to a local market, where I knew there's an watch store. We stood there. He said "Remember what I've told you, and thank you." with a surprisingly soft voice.

He adjusted his sleeves and walked towards the market, without waiting for me to respond.

I didn't call after him. Something told me he did not want to be followed.

I take a rickshaw from over there almost always, but that day, I walked back home, to understand what just happened in the past 30 minutes. I didn't want to move fast after that, not at that moment.

During the walk home his words kept replaying in my head, not like some divine message, just lived truths from a man who has taken more than a few hits and still hasn't given up. I probably wouldn't see him again. But he didn't feel like a stranger. He felt like a checkpoint. A moment life throws at you to say: Pay attention. Before things get too late.

Just a man and the quiet weight of what he's lived.

[^1]: (Changed the original name to protect his identity.)

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