Saurabh shut the book down on the table. He looked at the wall, surprised to see that the hands of the clock were still striking at 4:40. He let a sigh out. It had been a lazy day. After getting up from the sofa, he stretched his hands, fingers, toes and twisted his back sideways, then he strolled across the hall to the balcony, which was in the backside of the apartment.
Down there was a narrow street with buildings in a row next to it, old and yellow. The paint on the walls was peeling out. Saurabh had always found the window right in front of his balcony closed, but today the doors of it were wide open and there was an old man with steel-rimmed glasses and a cabbie cap, standing, leaning out on his elbows, staring down at the empty street. They were so close that if Saurabh leaned out a little, both of them could easily shake their hands.
"Good evening, sir, " Saurabh greeted and smiled at him. He was bored with the slow passing of the time and the story he had been reading since morning. "Evening," the old man, slightly looking up, replied in a dry voice as though he had spoken something after several months. His lips were dry, and his teeth showed yellow as he smiled. Then again, he dropped down his head to peep in the right of the street.
"Are you waiting for the truck, sir?" Saurabh asked him after a while. Before speaking, the old man cleared his throat. "No," he said, “taking some fresh air in”. Saurabh laughed because he thought it was a rather sarcastic statement for such an adverse situation they were collectively facing. He said, "I don't think it's fresh anymore, sir."
"What do you think, then?" the old man asked. "Look!" He pointed out with his shaking hand at the pigeons perched on the electric wires which were moving up and down because of the sudden movements caused by the flutter of the wings. Saurabh glanced down at the road and shifted his gaze from right to left and then left to right; the narrow road was covered under the dead leaves of mango and neem trees, and the over- aged stray dogs were yawning while sitting on the top of the dusty vehicles parked down there. Once too noisy, but now the street was so silent that Saurabh could even hear the clock ticking behind in the living room.
In a white shirt plainly tucked in, with neatly trimmed beard, and the cap, the old man stood there not caring to move his eyes away from the pigeons. "Never in the whole six years have I seen this road like this," Saurabh said as he was somewhat annoyed by the emptiness. For as long as he could remember, the street had always been occupied and was running day and night, that also kept it alive.
"Never seen so many pigeons here together in the last 20 years?" "You've been living here for 20 years?" Saurabh said, observing his face. He had sure never seen him anywhere. "Where the hell do you want to send me at this age, boy?" The old man gave a crooked smile. Saurabh glanced at his dark brown wrinkles at the corners of his tiny eyes, as the steel rim around them shone in the sun. "I didn't mean that, sir. Do you live here alone?"
"Yeah, An old man can live on his own. Have you never seen one?" After an awkward pause, he said, "I am a writer, boy. And a writer is always alone no matter where he lives." The long lost pride came and dwelled over his lips as he declared himself a writer.
Saurabh : "Great! What do you write, sir, newspaper articles?"
Old Man: "I may look so boring to you, but I write interesting stories"
Saurabh: "Working on something interesting right now?"
Old man: "I have finished one this morning."
Saurabh: "I'd love to read, sir. Trust me, I am a good reader. Just finished a book."
Old man: "I'll give you the copy of it but you must wait. The pigeons never really come here again and again."
As some of the pigeons commenced to fly, the Old man looked up in the clear sky, where they were going, beyond the tall buildings and was disappearing behind them. The old eyes seemed sad as they couldn't see them anymore. "The truck comes at five o'clock, do you need anything, sir?" Saurabh asked him again. "No, boy. I bought all the stuff yesterday... for the whole two weeks... Now, I need nothing." The old man proudly smiled. "Thank you so much for asking."
Saurabh took out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his pyjama. The old man observed Saurabh and then he looked back inside his darkened room, and then asked, "does that truck bring cigarettes too?" "No. It only brings food and groceries. But I got stock." I see," the old man said, looking at the cigarette between Saurabh's fingers. "You can have it if you want to." Saurabh forwarded his hand. "Take it, sir, I have more." "No, no...um.. okay .. just, just give me one" said the old man.
Saurabh threw out a cigarette, and the lighter afterwards. The old man failed to catch both times. He took them off the ground and lit the cigarette with his trembling hand. After blowing the smoke out in the air, he asked, "What do you do?" "An engineer," Saurabh said as he lit the cigarette for himself.
Old man: "Oh."
Saurabh: "That's why I am sitting at home, I think I should have been a doctor."
Old man: "A noble thought. Doctors are busy nowadays."
Saurabh: "When I was studying in UP, I dreamt of becoming a doctor and shifting to the USA someday. Now I think, I was so stupid."
Old man: "Why? Don't you know? The condition is out of control. Worse than ours? Yeah. Just like hell. And in New York… The old man was anxious as he pronounced 'New York' and stared into Saurabh's eyes as if he had forgotten about everything all of a sudden, even the pigeons.
Saurabh: "Worst! Why?"
Old man: "Someone of mine lives there."
Saurabh: "Who?"
The old man said nothing and slowly released the smoke from between his cracked lips and it made him feel good to watch the smoke going up in the sky where the pigeons were going too.
Old man: "You, too, live alone here?"
Saurabh: "Nope, with my wife."
Old man: "And your father, UP? alone?"
Saurabh: "Umm, sir, he passed away a long ago."
Old man: "Oh, Sorry. I thought ..."
Saurabh: "It's okay. Had he been alive today, I would have kept him here with me."
"But then you couldn't smoke like this." The old man mocked and tried to give a clever smile. "You ever remember him?" he asked as he was taunting Saurabh. "What?" "Don't you miss your father?"
Saurabh: "Sometimes." "Sometimes you have to forget things and move on."
"You are right boy...forgetting fathers... moving on… yeah… we all do that. No one's fault. You won't believe it, I've almost forgotten my father's face, except for his big upwardly twisted moustaches." He threw the butt away as far as he could with all the strength left his old right hand, then without looking at Saurabh, said, "Once, in my teen years, he taught me how to cook delicious eggs. I've never forgotten that. He was indeed a good teacher."
Saurabh took the last puff and let the butt slip from the grip of his finger and watched it roll down the slope to dusty tires of cars. "My father always wanted to send me to the city, to see me becoming something... something really big. Then one day..."
"Every father in this world does the same." The old man took off the glasses and wiped them on his chest. He continued after wearing them, "Forgetting things... moving on. But, I stayed with him till his last breath. He said to me, It's a great feeling when you die in your son's lap."
Saurabh couldn't take his eyes off the old man for a few seconds and then suddenly he shifted his gaze to the right; people were peeping out of their balconies there. They were anxious. "I don't think the truck will come today," guessed Saurabh.
"Most probably not!" The old man agreed, looking at the pigeons, as one by one, they flew away, except for the one big rounded pigeon. It seemed too lazy or perhaps too old to fly immediately. The old man moved uneasily and settled in his previous position.
"I don't want to embarrass you, sir," Saurabh said, "But... as you know it is really a hard time for our country, for the entire world, at least in this difficult time, we must help each other." "Yeah, it is, boy" the old man agreed.
Saurabh: "Sir, do you need anything?"
The old man gulped down and turned back to look into his room, then he said, "I took all the stuff yesterday." He looked down at his nervous hands and then at the lone pigeon. "Everything! but the eggs. You just reminded me of my father. Do you have some eggs?"
Saurabh went inside without wasting a second and brought a whole tray of eggs for the old man and gave it to him. He smiled while leaning out of his balcony. "Thank you." The old man tried hard not to make eye contact with Saurabh. "Welcome, sir," Saurabh said. "You can call me anytime if you need anything."
"No, I.. Yesterday I bought everything I needed, but the eggs!" The old man laughed, slightly shaking his head. He smiled again at Saurabh, but this time there was no pride in his smile, but a glimpse of shame and hesitation that he wanted to hide anyway. He stared at the eggs.
Saurabh: "I want to read your story, sir.”
Old man: "Of course. But, I think I need to add some more things to the story. I want to give it a new ending, and then I'll give a copy to you. Tomorrow?"
Saurabh: "Yeah, tomorrow would be fine."
"Thank you again, son, for this. You're really a good boy." The old man waddled inside, staring down at the tray of eggs. He left the window open, maybe unintentionally.
"Sir, look!" Saurabh called out, louder. "Your pigeons are coming back."
∎
