We all seek happiness, so much that beyond a point we seem to start enjoying grief. Till that point, we seem to be running away, until we realize that sadness is like a shadow… but then one can play around with it and make figures –maybe happy, maybe sorry.
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The weather bureau had anticipated thunderstorms but it was a typical Indian autumn dawn. Everything, irrespective of its original colour, turned saffron. The colour filled every void –even air seemed to turn saffron. It was similar to how it was on his first big day when he wore his best trousers, a sparkling white shirt and his father’s best red silk tie.
He was in his early twenties then, and a lot had happened since. He now needed a walking stick, had his own ties –as many things had happened as the wrinkles on his skin. Then, he had fallen in love and now it had been a year since his love passed away. But he was particularly reminded of that first big day, by the end of which, he had asked a question; the answer to which, until now, he had not found.
That day he just did not want to take the tie off. He wore it throughout the day until something happened. The old beggar, whom he gave a quarter as alms every evening, looked very different –had his palm extended, but wasn’t asking for anything; seemed to look at something –with a sense of nothingness. He looked at the beggar trying to figure out what he couldn’t, until a fly sat on the beggar's eye –frozen open.
Shocked, he started walking briskly towards the train station –disappearing into the maze where millions of people were trying to make a way past each other to somewhere. A bus spat a cloud of black smoke on his face as it roared past him. In the midst of this, the dead beggar calmly sat with his palm extended – with a few quarters that he hadn’t asked for.
Our young man took his seat in the crowded second-class compartment of the train with his father’s tie still knotted to perfection. After a while, he took it off.
He slept early that evening, immediately after eating sweets with friends and family.
---
A lot had happened since then –as many things as the wrinkles on his skin.
Dark clouds had gathered by now and soon broke loose. He sat alone under the weeping sky, soaked in tears that nourish our world. He too wept, wept with a sense of fulfillment. He looked at the sky with his eyes shut and felt the raindrops on his open palms.
---
The weather bureau had anticipated thunderstorms but it was a typical Indian autumn dawn. Everything, irrespective of its original colour, turned saffron. The colour filled every void –even air seemed to turn saffron. It was similar to how it was on his first big day when he wore his best trousers, a sparkling white shirt and his father’s best red silk tie.
He was in his early twenties then, and a lot had happened since. He now needed a walking stick, had his own ties –as many things had happened as the wrinkles on his skin. Then, he had fallen in love and now it had been a year since his love passed away. But he was particularly reminded of that first big day, by the end of which, he had asked a question; the answer to which, until now, he had not found.
That day he just did not want to take the tie off. He wore it throughout the day until something happened. The old beggar, whom he gave a quarter as alms every evening, looked very different –had his palm extended, but wasn’t asking for anything; seemed to look at something –with a sense of nothingness. He looked at the beggar trying to figure out what he couldn’t, until a fly sat on the beggar's eye –frozen open.
Shocked, he started walking briskly towards the train station –disappearing into the maze where millions of people were trying to make a way past each other to somewhere. A bus spat a cloud of black smoke on his face as it roared past him. In the midst of this, the dead beggar calmly sat with his palm extended – with a few quarters that he hadn’t asked for.
Our young man took his seat in the crowded second-class compartment of the train with his father’s tie still knotted to perfection. After a while, he took it off.
He slept early that evening, immediately after eating sweets with friends and family.
---
A lot had happened since then –as many things as the wrinkles on his skin.
Dark clouds had gathered by now and soon broke loose. He sat alone under the weeping sky, soaked in tears that nourish our world. He too wept, wept with a sense of fulfillment. He looked at the sky with his eyes shut and felt the raindrops on his open palms.
I loved this article dude, one of your best I'd think.
ReplyDelete"a bus spat"...i like the use of that verb- never thought of it before. I guess you need to live in a metropolitan city- like Mumbai or Kolkatta to imagine such a metaphor.
ReplyDeleteAnd the description/shock of the dead beggar...was good.
incredibly thought provoking... beautifully written!
ReplyDeletethis is amazing....and it is soooooo well written....
ReplyDeletei dint know the to-be-lawyer i met the other day had a writer waiting to be read....and deciphered.....:)
Very well written. Really felt like I was there.. walking with him.
ReplyDelete