Skip to main content

Tape a tale -II

There is a man in the vicinity who in his ordinariness remains an unique being. I often cross paths with him and most of the days I see him carry buckets of water. It seems he has been measuring his life through those water buckets. He is always dressed in tatters but  has those pair of eyes which reflect his innocence. I can see a sufferer in him.

I have always wanted to know about him but never could master the courage to confront him, I didn't want him to grow conscious of my presence so I kept on observing him. It's been days of crossing his path on my way to the college and  he has begun to pass on smiles of recognition. He came up to me some days back  and inquired if I wanted to buy "dhekia" ( edible fern) from him and he wanted just five rupees for it. I bought it paying him some amount extra and he thanked me profusely. I could see his eyes twinkle and that filled my heart with a strange sense of satisfaction.

I got to know about his story from the villagers. He was an outcast and that was the reason I saw him carry water almost every day because he was not allowed access to draw water from his neighbors. My heart moved for him but I knew he wouldn't ever like to talk to me about it.

I had made up my mind to make small talks with him the next time I cross paths with him and there he was, struggling to balance dripping water buckets. I stopped to inquire if he had anything to sell today and he gave a coy smile stating that he was sorry but he couldn't manage to get anything. I said that was okay and off he went his way.

I stood there looking at him and I could feel my heart weigh heavy, ah those buckets had holes in them and most of the water in it dripped away midway. And he again walked a mile or so to refill those buckets. He seemed to wait for a Godot who could put his life to ease but Beckett was very right to put in at the end that Godot never comes but none the less the wait keeps on prolonging. The faith that someone at the end would turn up to give a better ending to things keeps people moving. His dripping buckets talk of his life which is slipping off time. But there he is everyday wearing his innocent smile , balancing his life over those dripping buckets of water!


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Life on wheels

The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more  can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing...
2 comments
Read more

What do you want to be?

While I was in my 10th standard, almost everyone I met wanted to know what I wanted to be. This question always perplexed me. From the lens of a fifteen year kid who was not yet sure of the changes which awaited in the near future, this question gave me nightmares. I would constantly sit by the mirror and ask myself, what actually would be my answer. My friends always had fancy answers at their disposal. They would confidently chirp whenever any one asked about it. What amused me most was, my friend who had no inkling to study Biology wanted to be a doctor and another friend who detested the idea of even cooking noodles, wanted to be a chef! But whenever they spoke about their wishes, they would always sound confident. And there I was, fumbling for words which refused to escape my lips. It was not until I entered Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya to do my plus two, I found my voice. The teachers there have a different way of viewing life. For the first time, I no longer felt the classroom...
2 comments
Read more

Grandpa and me

I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents.  It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could...
2 comments
Read more