It was 7:00 p.m. A grand wedding was taking place at a luxurious farmhouse in Jaipur. Glittering lights, the melodious tune of a shehnai, and guests dazzling in expensive attire. From the gate to the stage, everything was so grand that it was breathtaking. Amidst this dazzling spectacle, an old man quietly entered. He was about 78 years old. He was dressed in an old, dusty kurta, a worn-out dhoti, and a wooden stick. His legs were shaking, but there was a strange stillness in his eyes, as if he wasn’t startled by the situation but rather recognized it deeply. Without saying a word to anyone, he slowly made his way through the crowd. People turned their heads at him, some squinting, some laughing. He paused. The sweets counter was lined with all sorts of sweets: rasgullas, gulab jamuns, cashews, and katli. The old man extended his hand and very slowly picked up just one rasgullas. There was no plate, no request. Just a piece of sweet, perhaps picked up from memory rather than hunger. Just then, a woman exclaimed loudly, “Hey, who is that? Has a beggar come in?” Another guest laughed, “They come to eat free food. You’ll find these people everywhere, be it a wedding or a temple.” A third man said, “It looks like a scene straight out of a movie. An old beggar has come to steal sweets.” A small burst of laughter followed. Someone took out their mobile phone and started filming. But the old man said nothing. He didn’t eat or speak. He simply sat quietly in a corner, rasgullas in hand. He stood a little away from the crowd, looking towards the stage where the bride and groom were preparing for the varmala. A faint smile graced his lips, as if he were observing a still image amidst all the commotion. Suddenly, the groom, standing on the stage, caught sight of the old man. His eyes shot open. His face changed color. He threw the microphone. He jumped off the stage, and the entire crowd was stunned. The groom, carrying his heavy clothes and a turban, ran towards the old man. The crowd was at a loss. Some thought he had gone mad. Others decided to stop and watch. The groom made his way through the crowd and, as he approached, bent down and touched his feet. The entire crowd was stunned. The shehnai stopped. The DJ fell silent. The laughter stopped, and their gazes filled with astonishment. The groom was crying uncontrollably. “How did you get here? Babaji, why didn’t you tell me?” The old man just smiled softly. The wedding’s gaiety had now faded into silence.

Those who had laughed at the old man moments earlier were now wide-eyed. Standing on the stage was the groom, a young, elite, only son of a wealthy family, kneeling on the ground, and in front of him was the man everyone had thought was a beggar. The groom’s hands were still holding the old man’s feet. “Why didn’t you tell me, Babaji, that you were coming?” You are everything to me. I am who I am because of you. Whispers erupted among the crowd. Who is this? Is he a relative of the groom? So much respect, so much love. And then the groom stood up and said, “This is not a beggar. This is the man who raised me. When I was seven, my parents died in an accident. I was left with no relatives, and I was left on the streets. People turned their backs on me. But this old man gave up everything and adopted me. He fed me by dividing his bread into half. He taught me to read from old newspapers. He covered me with his body every cold night and made me sleep. He never asked for anything from me. He was satisfied with just the smile on my face. Today I am a doctor. The director of the biggest hospital in this city because even a person who looked like a beggar

This man taught me to dream. Now the crowd was completely silent. No one was at a loss for words. The old man, who had been scorned just moments before, was now being watched with respect. And then the groom took the old man’s hand and said, “Babaji, you won’t sit alone anymore. Please come to the stage. You are like my parents, and my wedding is incomplete without your blessings.” The old man’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t protest. He slowly rose, and for the first time, someone held him up respectfully, not with support. He was no longer alone as he walked towards the stage. The entire staff, relatives, and guests were making way for him, as if welcoming a king. Upon reaching the stage, the groom sat him down on his chair. The bride bowed and touched his feet. With trembling hands, the old man placed his blessings on his head. The crowd was now applauding, but the applause wasn’t for the sake of noise. It was applause of shame, respect, and learning. The stage had changed. Where just a few minutes before, there had been only the bride and groom, he was now seated in the center. An old man dressed in simple, tattered clothes, with no complaints or pride on his face, the only thing was completeness. The groom now came to the microphone and said, “Today, I confess before all of you that whatever I am is because of this man. I called him many times, but he said, ‘Now that you have learned to fly, you don’t need to look at me.’ But today, when I am living the most beautiful moment of my life, his presence has immortalized it.” Now it was the old man’s turn. He was given the microphone. With weak hands, he held it and spoke slowly. “I never imagined that a single piece of my rasgulla would weigh so heavily on me. I just wanted to witness that moment when that child who once cried over his torn school bag is now starting a new life. But in the same society where I saw him progress, today when I picked up a sweet, I was brought back to where I was at my lowest. But today, all of you have lifted me up again. Remember, the one you laugh at stealing a sweet.” He must have taught someone the sweetness of life. The crowd was crying now. Some hid their faces. Some turned off the video. Some held their children’s hands and said, “Learn, son.” This is true greatness. Weddings weren’t the same anymore. The feast continued. But now everyone put out at least one plate for the elderly. Someone offered them a seat. Someone was serving food. And a new plaque had now been placed on the sweet table in the corner. Here, every sweet might hold the story of someone’s bitter life. The wedding night was over. The elderly were quietly leaving again. The groom ran after him and grabbed his hand. “Baba ji, you won’t go anywhere now. You will come to my house forever.” The elderly smiled. “No, son, my place is in the heart of every child the world abandons, but someone picks them up and puts them back together. Whether I live or not, but remember, the one who picked up the sweets never let anyone go to sleep hungry. The one you made laugh for a single rasgulla.” It was he who once gave someone the sweetness of a lifetime. Don’t judge a person by their clothes. Sometimes the most precious memories lie in torn pockets.