Winter Sojourn

aUTHOR
...

Sep-18

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You can often see  them together  .Walking down the street...  leisurely ... living every moment of their togetherness . It doesnt seem that they met only a few years ago.

Each  winter morning  they  signal to each other  across the  fence between their gardens. One   waits in the gentle morning light filtering through the mango leaves  until the   other   joins .The delight they feel upon seeing each other  seems to spill over  and you can almost feel the  extra warmth in the  sunshine as you pass them by. And then they set off.  They stroll down the street  and into the open grounds . The  frolicking butterflies hovering over  wild flowers welcome them. The buzzing bee  takes a peek at this duo hoping to catch the  tune they  hum.   A few pups  try to hinder their paths . But they go on... unmindful of the amused glances they receive from passersby. An unfinished cemented  block  in an isolated corner of the ground beckons to them. They sit here, side by side , at ease, perfectly  tuned to each other .

They return. Slowly. How good they look  together. Tall  and graceful . Their  eyes , that have seen so much, can still  twinkle  mischievously. Language could never  be  a barrier  for this twosome. The perfect  communication via broken Bangla  and hyphenated Hindi can be any linguists case study .

Evening  sees  them together again. Many a times while returning  from  office, I offer them a lift which they politely decline. At  times  they  include me in their  tete-a-tete  and  leave me laughing heartily over a much repeated  chutkulia*. As I retreat , I  cannot remain  untouched by the purity of their bonding.

A few winters pass. Earlier, they had conquered words... now  they have eliminated them entirely. Their  ears no more receive them. They continue with their singing and humming... voices reflecting their indomitable spirit.

Winter whithers gradually into spring. Its time to part. Come winter and they would meet again...but deep within  they are aware. One of them may not make it. Each passing winter strengthens this fact.

I see  them again, venturing out. I run up to them with the hearing aid in my hand .

“You forgot to wear your hearing aid again,  Papa. At least wear them when you are outside.” I said , putting them into my fathers ears.

“Ghosh babu has out grown them. Each time  I return from Kanpur, his hearing ability further plunges. Now he doesnt hear a thing even with that contraption in his ears. We communicate by writing and signals. So dont bother me with this any more “ he said and turned slowly with the aid of his walking stick towards his approaching friend. Ghosh uncle waves at me  through his greeting ?“Radhe Radhe”. I  simply smile back knowing that my words reach him no more .

They set off again...two octogenarians, two friends...  humming their favourite bhajan, leaving me amazed ... enveloped in the fresh fragrance of friendship.

 

*chutkulia ? a very small joke

 


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7 comments

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04 Feb 2014
.., wrote: Hayas

..

04 Feb 2014
.., wrote: Xjtrk

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04 Feb 2014
.., wrote: Qwert

Vikas Kakk..

04 Feb 2014
.., wrote:
Ok

shaman..

04 Feb 2014
.., wrote:
Ol

shaman..

04 Feb 2014
.., wrote:
Ok

Kurush Kho..

04 Feb 2014
.., wrote:
The starting para caught my attention. You did well with your descriptions and basically through the article you brought out well the essence of the emotion you were trying to convey.

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