A Century Behind My Time
I remember two stories I read in English class. One was called “The Letter” by Dhumaketu. The other was “Lost Spring” by Anees Jung. I am studying the latter now in the twelfth standard. The former story had a line which went somewhat like “the frail old man walking by, a century behind his time.” The title is a misquote of the line. Let me tell you of a little trip I took today and of what I saw…which makes me say that I too am a century behind my time.
I had to pick up a demand draft for my school fees from Dad’s office today. After that I needed to travel down to AJC Bose Road to give the car for some much needed repairs. I think it was something to do with the brake disks. So, accompanied by the driver I set off on this quest. Dad’s office welcomed me as usual. They had seen me grow up after all! The same for when I dropped the car off at the garage. Naturally, we had to depend on the public transport to return home to Salt Lake. Here’s where it gets interesting…..
Getting hold of a bus involved crossing the roads and making our way to the appropriate bus stop. A footnote worth adding here is that it was around one in the afternoon and as usual the streets were packed with pedestrians. That was why we cut through a local market just off the main footpaths. Let me describe it. There were these small stalls with black tarpaulin stretched over them. Some were selling cheap plastic toys, others cheaper food. Street food, cooked out in the open. I noticed some vegetable curry at one shop. Just a stone’s throw away a man was waiting at a table. Table? It was just a set of planks, nailed to the wall with some dirty stools. On these stools, people sat with platters of food, eating. I thought of the hot lunch awaiting me back home. The new episode of Supernatural I would watch while I ate. The 13800 rupees cheque for my school fees in my back pocket. And I looked at the man who had a small sheaf of notes in his hands. He wore a deep blue shirt. Was it blue? Or had it been made so due to the carbon fumes there? I looked at the little kids, tending to the stoves while their mothers fanned themselves and chopped vegetables. I wondered where their fathers were. Could this man be one of them?
I wanted to stay there. I wanted to help them. I wanted to….I dont know! What? I’ll tell you what I did though. I looked for my driver amidst the crowd and hurried to him. We boarded a bus and we left. And here I am blogging away. And there the man is. Waiting three tables.
Wasting away.
The Bilge Master
I remember two stories I read in English class. One was called “The Letter” by Dhumaketu. The other was “Lost Spring” by Anees Jung. I am studying the latter now in the twelfth standard. The former story had a line which went somewhat like “the frail old man walking by, a century behind his time.” The title is a misquote of the line. Let me tell you of a little trip I took today and of what I saw…which makes me say that I too am a century behind my time.
I had to pick up a demand draft for my school fees from Dad’s office today. After that I needed to travel down to AJC Bose Road to give the car for some much needed repairs. I think it was something to do with the brake disks. So, accompanied by the driver I set off on this quest. Dad’s office welcomed me as usual. They had seen me grow up after all! The same for when I dropped the car off at the garage. Naturally, we had to depend on the public transport to return home to Salt Lake. Here’s where it gets interesting…..
Getting hold of a bus involved crossing the roads and making our way to the appropriate bus stop. A footnote worth adding here is that it was around one in the afternoon and as usual the streets were packed with pedestrians. That was why we cut through a local market just off the main footpaths. Let me describe it. There were these small stalls with black tarpaulin stretched over them. Some were selling cheap plastic toys, others cheaper food. Street food, cooked out in the open. I noticed some vegetable curry at one shop. Just a stone’s throw away a man was waiting at a table. Table? It was just a set of planks, nailed to the wall with some dirty stools. On these stools, people sat with platters of food, eating. I thought of the hot lunch awaiting me back home. The new episode of Supernatural I would watch while I ate. The 13800 rupees cheque for my school fees in my back pocket. And I looked at the man who had a small sheaf of notes in his hands. He wore a deep blue shirt. Was it blue? Or had it been made so due to the carbon fumes there? I looked at the little kids, tending to the stoves while their mothers fanned themselves and chopped vegetables. I wondered where their fathers were. Could this man be one of them?
I wanted to stay there. I wanted to help them. I wanted to….I dont know! What? I’ll tell you what I did though. I looked for my driver amidst the crowd and hurried to him. We boarded a bus and we left. And here I am blogging away. And there the man is. Waiting three tables.
Wasting away.
The Bilge Master
The letter was a really touching story, and also the Woman on Platform 8, by Ruskin Bond if you remember.
ReplyDeleteGreat write-up, Ashesh!
Yeah deepak I do! So you're also from CBSE?
ReplyDeleteI noticed when I was done that it sounded like those chapters, so, I've referred to them in the post.....glad you liked it!
Very cool. Not the wasting away, but the coincidence.
ReplyDeletewhat coincidence red? The one above? Glad you liked it...there are a lot more where this came from!
ReplyDelete