The rumbling of the engine marked his arrival. His khaki soiled with grease was loud enough to tell that today as well, the car might have broken down in the highway. The weather was windy and the wind-chime was jingling. He rested his torso on the old wooden easy chair, and the creaking sound again reminded that it has lived its life to the fullest. He, as if, retorting back to the tantrums of the chair, leaned over the back-rest. He closed his eyes and put his grease coated hands over his lap, as if trying to comfort himself.
There was a distant music coming from across the grassland that extended to a kilometer or more. This reminds me that there was a time when this brown wooden house used to have a life of it's own. There used to be cane chairs laid in the veranda, and a beautiful center table with intricately chiseled legs added to its glory. The trees, now brown, were the natural green arch, and the flowers during the winter and spring used to fall on the entrance to form a carpet; as if welcoming every single visitor to the house. He and his wife used to be the proud residents and owner of this beautiful farm house; now deserted.
Lying on the chair, perhaps, he was trying to think what happened over a span of time that the house once beautiful, is so abandoned now. The house that used to be the center of social activities and festivities is now like a make-shift tent - not sure of its own destiny. The aura that he once radiated has been overshadowed by the growing beards on his face. The taut posture he used to have is now looking slack. He was confused, he was in utter discomfort.
A few years back,almost around this time they used to sit on the veranda, looking at the sunset and soft instrumental music used to play in the old HMV gramaphone. After the sunset it used to be the time when they planned for the future. He and his companion were a pair that people thought were rare. Indeed rare it was - they complimented each other like the two halves of a circle. Without one the other is not a circle even. He was a ranger, a young, honest and energetic gentleman and she was an accomplished dancer. Weekends used to be the time when they used to go out, across the hills to have their own time. Every single festival in the region was observed in this house. The frames on the wall are the memoir of that bygone time.
A sudden knock on the door brought him back to reality. He, as if, woken up from a dream, stared blankly towards the door. There was a man, perhaps the only man who he was close to. It took the man, not even a second to realise, what must be going on in his friend's mind. He put off his bag, drew a flask and after a while they were having coffee. The clock struck six, the blackness was engulfing the reddish grey at the horizon. It was just an hour since he has come back, but to him, it was as many days as he had lived with her. Everyday, in that one hour he remembers, every single moment they had spent together, not even a single detail was ever missed.
He stands up and escorts his friend to the door. The jeep leaves behind it - a trail of dusty air. He looks at the sky, then looks in the direction of the distant music. Then he looks at the deserted hall. His eyes were telling, he was tired. His lips were trembling. He looks at the cupboard and takes out a photo frame, looks at it like he was looking for the first time, cleans it with his shaking hands and then looks at the mirror. Perhaps the person in the mirror is the only other person staying in the house to accompany him. He puts back the frame, closes the door of the cupboard and sits on the chair - to die again.
My phone rang, I woke up, it was 4 am. I had a morning flight to catch. While going to airport my mind was wondering, love is probably the biggest strength and perhaps the biggest weakness. The person died four years ago and I still remember the evening, I had our last coffee together. Suddenly I realised that the FM radio of the taxi was playing the same music, I heard that day, coming from across the grassland.
Life can't be any stranger...
A few years back,almost around this time they used to sit on the veranda, looking at the sunset and soft instrumental music used to play in the old HMV gramaphone. After the sunset it used to be the time when they planned for the future. He and his companion were a pair that people thought were rare. Indeed rare it was - they complimented each other like the two halves of a circle. Without one the other is not a circle even. He was a ranger, a young, honest and energetic gentleman and she was an accomplished dancer. Weekends used to be the time when they used to go out, across the hills to have their own time. Every single festival in the region was observed in this house. The frames on the wall are the memoir of that bygone time.
A sudden knock on the door brought him back to reality. He, as if, woken up from a dream, stared blankly towards the door. There was a man, perhaps the only man who he was close to. It took the man, not even a second to realise, what must be going on in his friend's mind. He put off his bag, drew a flask and after a while they were having coffee. The clock struck six, the blackness was engulfing the reddish grey at the horizon. It was just an hour since he has come back, but to him, it was as many days as he had lived with her. Everyday, in that one hour he remembers, every single moment they had spent together, not even a single detail was ever missed.
He stands up and escorts his friend to the door. The jeep leaves behind it - a trail of dusty air. He looks at the sky, then looks in the direction of the distant music. Then he looks at the deserted hall. His eyes were telling, he was tired. His lips were trembling. He looks at the cupboard and takes out a photo frame, looks at it like he was looking for the first time, cleans it with his shaking hands and then looks at the mirror. Perhaps the person in the mirror is the only other person staying in the house to accompany him. He puts back the frame, closes the door of the cupboard and sits on the chair - to die again.
My phone rang, I woke up, it was 4 am. I had a morning flight to catch. While going to airport my mind was wondering, love is probably the biggest strength and perhaps the biggest weakness. The person died four years ago and I still remember the evening, I had our last coffee together. Suddenly I realised that the FM radio of the taxi was playing the same music, I heard that day, coming from across the grassland.
Life can't be any stranger...
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