Sonia

He used to live behind my house. His name was ‘Sonia’. I am unsure of this being his real name as it’s highly probable that someone might have joked about this back in the past and the name latched itself on him.
By keeping all of his stuffs beside him, he used to stay with our livestock in the barn. No member of my house ever asked him to move out from the place. From his youth to death, he lived just in there.
Short in height with face covered with long gushing beard, wearing old outwore drapes; he used to smile ear to ear, flashing the only visible bones in the body.
He used to shave once or twice in a year. That to, when he was taken away by his well to do brothers. They were real brothers and were doing really good with their lives. So Sonia came from a fine family of neighboring village. But as it appeared, he loved to live in this very way only. It became a routine for us to see his brothers taking him back to his home once in every quarter of all the years and he, out of his attractions and unfulfilled fantasies, always ran back from to the cattle shelter, which he felt to be his true home.
He never begged, although he asked for food at our home and sometimes with one or two neighbors. If somebody else offered him daily needs, like carry bags, news papers, bottles and more drapes, he used to accept those as a sign of gratitude towards the donor. Like gratuity in reverse it was, which floated to the donor from the recipient.   
He was a foodie, since with usual Roti sabji, dal and rice, he needed pickles as well. If he disliked the vegetables then it appeared clearly from his shrinking eyebrows and incomprehensible mumbling in Marathi. Along with the impure Marathi of the region, he was able to construed English at a beginner’s level, indicating that he dropped out from school early.      
The fear of our childhood from him gradually vanished and it became a matter of laughter for me and my friends later in our adolescence. The scare crow was no more but was now a part of many strings which connects the dots to the core of childhood memories.  
With every year that passed, I saw his beard becoming lose threads of silver overlapping each other as if covering a scar underneath. The Youthful years were far behind him. The colonies children had started mocking him and he could do nothing but mumble in the same old incomprehensible impure Marathi.
He survived two brutal accidents, as later in his life he became insomniac and started wandering alone in the dark black nights of Amgaon. Alone on the road he used to walk carrying his luggage of two or three sacks. Like a Santa Claus, contemplating his plans for coming Christmas, his luggage rattled and awoke many dogs who had somehow managed to squeeze under the resting trucks at the sides of road.  He might be trying hard to run the rusted nerves out of years of no use.
During two such walks he was interrupted by collisions from opposite driving vehicles. The doctors were aware of his presence as well. Whenever he was rushed to hospital, doctors treated him without charging any fees. They also grew watching him wandering around in the village and like me, their childhood memories had his impressions as well.
I know so much about him, even though it’s never been discussed or talked about but mere seen as passing of events as we see ourselves growing. We don’t talk about ourselves with others much and nowadays, even so less with oneself, yet, God has considered this in his divine plan and made us aware of ourselves by making a conscious-unconscious in the mind, which keeps the images without letting you know of its presence.  Out of so many images of Sonia, out of so many situations I have seen him into, one situation deludes me or should I say, the absence of one such image deludes me. Absence of which makes me curious of its imaginary presence.
You see, Sonia wasn’t religious nor he was spiritual. He could have sat in the same barn, contemplating over religious definitions, declare himself to be an ascetic. I am not saying it will be true. Because he was too far away from that. So what? There are so many self declared God-men. He could have come up with a new theory on theism. Only if- he was religious. But he was a selfish man. Who lived for his own personal purpose. To live. He was enjoying life.
Ok, I am not appreciating that kind of living. It is a waste if anyone lived like that. But there is one aspect of his miserable life that I can’t help but notice. The fact that, he never tried to have an influence on things which had never mattered to him. May it be religious, commercial or anything. He was content in whatever he was doing. Even if it constituents drinking a glass of water. With his whole energy, putting all of his thought at one place, he just used to drink that glass of water. So good he was at it!
I have seen people turning religious during the silver years of lives. But he was an exception to it. He stayed as he was. In the same barn. Moreover, that part of not trying to influence somebody to be like you-impresses! Its real. I have seen so many people who quote an example of themselves for things which shouldn’t be influenced at all. Though good influences are always welcomed, but those are like air, they travel on their own. One need not push a button for them to pass.  
After all of these, I didn’t try to allocate him in the section of right or wrong. I just wanted to think about his habit of staying content. And when I say content, I don’t mean to stop myself from working hard or from setting high aspirations. I just want to know, how much possessions one needs to be able to sustain calmly. Sustainable development it might be. How much will be enough?