Beyond give-and-take: A pen, a raised hand, a quiet smile

I often go to my local vegetable vendor Kamal bhai to buy fresh picks. After paying through a digital app, I instinctively show him the screen for confirmation. But every time, the old man simply raises his hand with a smile, as if to say — “No need at all. I trust you.” That silent gesture, that quiet faith…so simple yet so meaningful, always stays with me. It makes me wonder, isn’t that what keeps the world going?

Like, one night, long ago, when baba’s friend, Ramen Kaku, showed up at our house very late. He appeared a little restless, searching for something. “Did I leave a pen here?” he asked, looking around uneasily with some concern. A mere pen? We were a bit confused, somewhat puzzled. Why would someone come this late, just for that?

But then he told us, it wasn’t just a pen. It was a promise. A gift from his college friend — someone who later chose a different path, became a nun. Before leaving, she had placed the pen in his hands. “Use this,” she had said. “And keep it with you always. Don’t forget me.” So it was something far more than just ink and paper.

That night, I understood. Some things are more than they just seem. A pen, a raised hand, a quiet smile. The world moves not just with transactions. But with the invisible weight of trust and promises. And perhaps, that is enough.

A few days back, my friend left her phone in a cab. She panicked, thinking it was gone forever. The cab driver’s phone wasn’t reachable. But an hour later, the driver called from another number. “I promised myself I’d always return lost things,” he said. “Tell me where to drop it.” He drove back, handing it over with a smile. A promise kept, a belief in goodness restored.

Every evening, at a small tea shop near my home, I see an elderly couple, with greying hair. The husband waits, looking at his watch, and exactly at 6:30 PM, his wife arrives – probably returning from her evening walk. They don’t say much; they simply sit together, sipping their tea, eyes meeting now and then. One evening, as I stood nearby, someone asked why they never miss a day. The old man smiled. And his eyes twinkled with mischief, as he spoke. “I made her a promise, some fifty years ago…no matter what, we would always share our evening tea,” he said. A hint of laughter in his voice…

Promises come in many forms — between life partners, between strangers, and sometimes even between friends. Some are spoken, some are silently understood. And then, there are those we carry with us, like little tokens of faith. My friend, a politician and a frequent traveller, once met me in Delhi while on work. As we sat and chatted, she gave me a beaded necklace. Smiling, she said, it was for good luck and asked me to keep it. I’m not superstitious, but I still carry it — because what truly matters is the warmth of her gesture and the sincerity of her good wishes.

And then, there’s that special tribe — mothers. My friend Dipto once said, “My mother never says ‘I love you.'” But she wakes up at 5 AM to make tea, keeps his favourite biscuits stocked, and hands him extra socks, saying, ‘It might get cold.’ That day, I realised something about love. Some mothers don’t say it aloud. They pack it in tiffin boxes, slip it into warm socks, and serve it in cups of tea before the world wakes up.

The world moves forward not just on money, power, or rules, but on these small, unseen promises that people honour. A silent bond between a customer and a vendor. A friend who keeps their word. A mother who shows up. A love that stands the test of time.

Perhaps that’s what truly keeps the world together — holding on, and not falling apart. The world that runs on trust and promises.