Every
Penny Counts: A Story of Friendship Across Oceans
Sham
gazed out his living room window, the sun glinting off the snow-covered peaks
in the distance. It was the winter of 2015, yet the phone call he had just
received made time dissolve into memory. After more than two decades of
silence, his childhood friend Abdul had resurfaced. A surge of excitement and
anticipation coursed through Sham’s veins as he waited for the phone to ring
again, desperately wanting to hear Abdul’s voice. In that moment, the memories
of their youth came rolling back in vivid, colourful waves.
A
Meeting of Minds
The
story truly began back in the 1960s, in the verdant and green valley of
Kashmir. Sham, a young man from a Kashmiri Pandit family, was pursuing a Master
of Science degree at the main university in the city. There, he met Abdul, a
bright, quick-witted fellow who shared the same program. Their friendship had
been almost instantaneous. Both of them came from modest families that
emphasized hard work and education. They teased each other about everything
from the dryness of their professors’ lectures to the political undercurrents
swirling through the region. Yet no difference—religion, background, or
personal circumstance—could cloud their natural camaraderie, their
companionship.
Sham
often recalled how the two would stroll along the Dal Lake banks after
lectures, comparing notes and sharing small pakoras bought from local street
vendors.
One
evening, they sat in a cramped teahouse reviewing complex biology concepts when
Abdul confessed he was struggling in one area. Sham patted his friend’s shoulder
with an almost brotherly warmth and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll top that
subject.”
Abdul
later did pass that course with flying colours, eventually ranking among the
top in their class.
Their
bond extended well beyond classroom walls. Their friendship blossomed far beyond the boundaries of the classroom,
weaving itself into the rhythm of their daily lives. Abdul’s family always
received Sham as a guest of honour. He would be offered cups of fragrant kehwa,
delicately infused with saffron and sprinkled with slivers of almonds, as if
each sip carried a gesture of affection. In return, Sham’s mother welcomed
Abdul with equal warmth, insisting he stay for dinner whenever he visited. She
would lovingly heap his plate with generous servings of traditional Kashmiri
dishes, the air rich with the aroma of simmering spices and the gentle music of
shared laughter.
Abdul often found himself observing Sham’s father, Pandit Janki Nath Misri,
a man deeply absorbed in his writing. Surrounded by manuscripts in various
stages of completion, he seemed to live in a world of words and ideas. Drawn by
curiosity, Abdul would occasionally glance through those unfinished
pages—sometimes discovering lessons in English grammar and translation, at
other times pages filled with science or mathematics. With quiet admiration, he
would remark, “You Kashmiri Pandits are truly devoted scholars, writing on
every subject with such dedication.”
Sham and Abdul shared a bond rooted in genuine affection and deep respect.
Sham, known for his tireless dedication to tutoring, had already begun to
mirror his father's scholarly spirit, who was widely respected and fondly
regarded as a pioneer of private tutoring in their community. Learning seemed
to flow naturally in their household, as though knowledge itself was a
cherished tradition.
This spirit extended even to Abdul’s younger brother, who, though a few
years behind, was fortunate enough to be guided by Sham. With a playful smile,
he would often say that he had not one, but two elder brothers watching over
him. Abdul’s younger brother later became a doctor.
New
Beginnings
Shortly
after completing their master’s degrees, Sham and Abdul found themselves at a crossroads.
Both had job offers—Sham at a renowned private college on the outskirts of the city,
and Abdul at a government-run institution. At that time, the government job
offered
a
salary of 300 rupees a month, nearly double Sham’s 150 rupees. Yet Sham never once
allowed envy to creep into his heart. He was grateful to be employed and felt excited
for Abdul’s success. “We’ll both get where we want to be someday,” Sham insisted
optimistically, sharing hot tea from a roadside stall with his friend.
In
those days, economic opportunities were limited, and many people looked abroad
for better prospects. Abdul’s younger brother, then a young doctor, had travelled
to the
United
States for higher studies and managed to secure a respectable position in a hospital
there. Through letters, he would urge Abdul to consider joining him. “If you
ever
want
to build a life beyond the horizon of our valley, come,” he wrote. “You have
the degree, and I have some connections.”
Abdul
deliberated for a few weeks before confiding in Sham. “My brother believes
there are better opportunities for me in the States,” he explained one evening
as they lingered in the college courtyard after a faculty meeting. Sham was
unsurprised. Opportunities in Kashmir, especially for someone with Abdul’s big
dreams, often felt constrained. And though Abdul’s heart belonged to the
valley, the promise of a brighter future pulled him across the ocean.
It
was a bittersweet moment. They stood by a column draped in ivy, each reflecting
on the uncertain road ahead. Sham, newly married and building a life in the
only place he’d ever known, embraced Abdul. “We’ll keep writing letters,” Sham
said confidently. “I’ll miss you, my friend.”
Across the Seas
Abdul’s
move to the United States went smoothly at first, thanks to his brother’s help.
However,
once the initial thrill of arrival wore off, challenges loomed. Housing was expensive,
and the culture was entirely new. Navigating the hustle and bustle of a foreign
city required nearly all his energy, and though his English was quite good, he found
himself tongue-tied in unfamiliar situations. News from back home dropped in sporadically,
and with time, exchanging letters with Sham became difficult. Life’s busyness
took hold, and their once-regular correspondence faded.
One
piece of advice from Sham kept echoing in Abdul’s mind. It was an adage, a
maxim, Sham had told Abdul’s younger brother back when he was tutoring him in
the valley: “Do not slumber in your father’s bed; get up and build a house for
yourself.” It served as a mantra whenever Abdul found himself exhausted by side
jobs and new routines.
Eventually,
the younger brother used his network to land Abdul a job at a car dealership owned
by a local businessman—an imposing yet benevolent man known for his wealth and
keen instincts. “Your brother is well-qualified. He is M.Sc.,” the owner had
said, flashing a confident smile. “But experience in sales is about more than
just a degree.”
Abdul’s
early days at the dealership tested his patience and his ability to handle rejection.
He knew nothing about marketing cars, but he threw himself into the task with
the
same enthusiasm he once had for his studies. Early each morning, he would
arrive to polish the vehicles, study the brochures, and memorise every feature.
He learned how to greet potential buyers and handle negotiations with calm
respect.
The
Value of Every Penny
One
bright day, a tall, jovial man strolled onto the lot wearing jogging clothes.
He admired a gleaming new sedan—a top model with a price tag that could easily
daunt most buyers. Abdul spent nearly half an hour explaining every detail:
engine capacity, safety features, special financing. The man seemed impressed
but admitted he had only 50 cents on him; he was out for his morning walk, he
said, and had left his wallet at home. Smiling, he thanked Abdul for the
information and began to walk away.
Not
long after, the dealership owner, who was watching from his office window,
called Abdul over. “That man is interested,” the owner insisted. “Go after him,
tell him we’ll hold the car for him.”
Abdul
felt puzzled. The man had only 50 cents, and it seemed fruitless to chase after
someone who wasn’t carrying money. Yet he did as he was told and raced down the
street, wind tugging at his sleeves. He caught up to the man in a nearby park
and repeated the owner’s offer. The man broke into a broad laugh. “I appreciate
that,” he said.
“I’ll
be back tomorrow with my chequebook.”
Returning
to the dealership, Abdul still didn’t understand the rationale.
“I
almost felt silly running after him,” Abdul admitted. “He was only carrying
spare change.”
The
owner, known for his directness, clasped Abdul’s shoulder in a friendly
gesture.
“In
this country, every penny counts,” he said. “If you start disregarding the
small amounts, you’ll disregard the people behind those amounts.” It was a
lesson that stuck with Abdul forever. From that day on, he paid careful
attention to every transaction and every person, realising that it was usually
the subtlest gestures which opened the biggest doors.
Silence and Searching
Back
in Kashmir, Sham built his career teaching at a private college. The political climate
grew turbulent over time, and in 1990, events escalated to the point where thousands
of Kashmiri Pandits, including Sham’s family, had to flee their homes.
Overnight,
Sham and his loved ones scattered, seeking safety wherever they could find it.
Unable to leave his new responsibilities, he lost direct contact with Abdul.
Abdul,
too, felt pangs of worry. He tried writing letters and making calls to old
numbers, but none reached Sham’s new address. Years turned into decades. Many
nights, while sipping his tea in a small apartment he eventually purchased,
Abdul’s mind drifted to the silhouette of mountains in his homeland and the
warmth of Sham’s family dinners.
The
Reconnection
In
2015, however, a sliver of hope appeared. Through a mutual acquaintance—someone
who had randomly bumped into Sham’s elder son during a trip—Abdul received a
phone number that might lead him to his long-lost friend.
Dialing
with trembling fingers, Abdul was surprised to hear a young man pick up. It was
Sham’s son, now an adult, but he hadn’t even been born when Abdul first left
for America. The son explained that the entire family, including Sham, was on a
short vacation in Las Vegas. He sounded puzzled at first, unsure why someone
named Abdul was so eager to speak with his father. Nonetheless, he jotted down
Abdul’s details, promising to pass the information to Sham once they were back
in Seattle.
For
Abdul, the wait felt excruciating. He spent the next few days alternating
between hope and dread. Then came the moment he had yearned for—a call from
Sham himself, ringing through late one evening after the family had finally
returned home from their trip. When Sham spoke, his voice carried the same
warmth and kindness Abdul remembered from decades before.
They
ended up talking for hours, reminiscing about old stories, the canteens where
they once traded exam notes, and long afternoons spent on each other’s
verandahs. Sham laughed, recalling how Abdul’s younger brother would doze off
in class until Sham sternly prodded him to pay attention. It was as though no
time had passed at all.
Finally,
Sham asked the question that had simmered in his heart for years: “How have you
been, dear friend? What did you do all these years in America?”
Abdul
exhaled, thinking of the day he had chased after the man with only 50 cents in
his pocket. “I learned, Sham,” he replied softly. “I learned that in life, no
effort, no relationship, and no act of kindness is ever too small. Every penny
counts.”
In
that quietly electric moment, the distance of continents and decades vanished.
They were just two old friends remembering their shared past, realising the
unbreakable threads that tied them together, threads woven from memories,
mutual respect, and a friendship that had outlasted separation, upheaval, and
the relentless march of time.
…
