A heartwarming short story...
© Rajiv Ramanujam
Original post @ http://m.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=497090642596&fbb=r8f26d42b&refid=22#anchor_fbid_497090642596
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Saturday morning.
Rahul was at the wheel of his car and waiting. His wife had stepped off to buy something for Rahul's older brother.
Saturday morning.
November and its first chills were setting in.
While randomly looking out, Rahul's gaze settled on an old woman's face. She may have been in her late 60's, small, slender. Her grey hair in a bun, in a yellow saree, a small purse clutched in her hand, and a cloth bag on her shoulder.
Probably she was a Bengali, as the locality was home to many of them.
A lined, expressive face, with eyes which seemed to have seen a great deal.
Rahul was a traveler, and was used to observing people. She was patiently waiting for the traffic to pass.
In the time it takes for a heartbeat to pulse, or a nerve ending to beat, Rahul suddenly knew who it was.
His childhood friend Ranjan's mother!
Rushing out, he walked up to her and stammered, "Mrs. Banerjee... I mean Sharmila Aunty... It's me, Rahul..."
She turned. Those expressive eyes scanned his face. Then that radiant smile which lit up a whole room appeared. Her hand gently came up and stroked his face, "Beta Rahul... Is it really you? How many years has it been?"
"Ranjan?"... "Uncle?"..., Rahul asked...
"Ranjan? In America. New York. Didn't you know?"
Guiltily he realized he had lost touch.
And Uncle?
That was the only time, that radiance dimmed a little.
"He passed away. 6 years ago"
"Oh I am so sorry", was all that came out.
"It's ok Rahul, he was ready to go. But you please come home. Remember those chops you boys liked so much? I can make them for you again".
Suddenly, Rahul's phone rang. His wife calling him. Quietly, she said, "ok, beta, do come over", and with a quiet dignity, she walked away.
Driving away, Rahul realized he had not asked her number, or the address, or even Ranjan's whereabouts.
A snapshot of childhood had appeared, and vanished.
Almost like a dream.
A quick glance at the rear view mirror.
Gone.
Snapshots... Childhood... Memory...
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As I was done reading the above short story by Rajiv Ramanujam, I felt even more empty than I do otherwise... It numbed me, unnerved me... The ever growing vacuum just became humongous... The hole became a crater...
Ironically the more technology we now have access to, the more detached we have become... That's how the life has become to be...
Life has taught me, 'n taught me well, at times in subtle 'n at other times in a brutal way to differentiate 'n respect between all the things that are meant to be 'n aren't meant to be... But losing the connect with reality isn't how I ever wanted it to be...
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Epilogue...
Repeatedly calling one particular number from my hand phone over last one hour, I got a trifle bit miffed... constantly was getting busy tone... WTF, what has come over people, how can anyone remain inaccessible in this age 'n time... I mean, who has the audacity to continuously talk over one hour without realizing that there may be someone somewhere urgently trying to reach 'em... at least have the call waiting activated, for God's sake...
Shoot... It dawned upon me... I was trying to call my own hand phone number...
In a desperate attempt to reach I, me, myself, had failed to connect, not without reason perhaps... I was failing time 'n again, in every attempt, to reach myself... 'n it wasn't a technology glitch... my inner core had become inaccessible to the facade I portray to the outside world...
Is it a realization; is it a revelation... I don't know... perhaps more aptly, I won't know as I have always been brain challenged...
Surely more than anything, losing connect with myself is gonna be my nemesis, my bane, my Waterloo...
I have dug my own grave... 'n oblivious of it, I am walking towards it... nah... am running towards it...
Life won't give me a second chance...
Call waiting isn't activated...
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Sent from BlackBerry® on Airtel
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