An old friend

‘They are fighting again’ my mother parked herself on the chair and started increasing the sound of television. ‘A person can’t even watch tv in peace’ she had said to no one in particular. I ran outside to the increasing voice of people all shouting at the same time. There were cuss words which I did not understand at that time. I could see too many people around. Few near them and rest all placing themselves at their convenience. It was like a television show which my Mother was trying to watch; only this one was live.

They lived across my house. A two floor blue colored old building. A divided family of two brothers. I have never seen it but they say there is a straight wall across the whole house separating them. I wondered why they keep fighting when they don’t have to deal with each other anymore. How naïve it was of me. I parked myself on the small boundary wall of my house and watched him. He was there, sitting on the stairs while his family screamed at each other. And then something different happened. His father ran towards his mother and all went silent apart from cuss words and ‘it’s all because of you’. There was no sound of kicks and punches, but only slaps, how wrong they show it in the movies I thought.

His mother cried and was trying unsuccessfully to protect herself from the blows, her nose was already bleeding I think it was broke but I was not sure. While pulling her hair and taking her out on the road, his father tripped on a brick and fell. She grabbed this chance and picked the little girl, Shekhar’s step sister and ran. Passing all the onlookers, in few seconds she vanished. This was the last time I ever saw her. She never came back, if she did, I was not aware of it.

It all went calm. My mother reduced the volume of the tv. All the viewers were gone. The show was over. I came back into the house and looked out from the window, he was still sitting there. And then he glanced at me, straight into my eyes. I can never forget those eyes, shining in the dim street light. He was not crying, in fact he was smiling, or may be its just me creeping out I thought. I shut the window and watched my mother to feel safe. What I did not notice was the drop of sweat crossing behind my ears. I was scared to hell.

From that day I tried not to look at him. I felt he has always been watching me. Whenever I crossed his house or sat near the window or played in the balcony he was always there, sitting on the same place, fanning away flies from his father’s wounds. I don’t know what was wrong with his father. My mother said he was suffering from severe illness. She said it was God’s punishment for killing his first wife, shekhar’s mother. For a long time I thought it was true but later I came to know that she was not well for long and lack of proper treatment killed her and it was not a sudden death, she was bed ridden for almost an year before she died. Everyone blamed his father. Real murderer was poverty or may be his father was the murderer since he did not do anything to save her or get her treated. I had seen him sometime selling baked groundnuts but that was only once or twice.

One day I returned from the school and he was not there. Though from the corner of my eyes I used to see him staring at me but today I turned my head to search for him. He was nowhere to be found. I sat near the window for almost a week but he was never there. His father was still there I could see him lying there on a charpoy wailing, moaning of pain, cursing his fate and what not. His brother from the divided house sometime left a plate of rice and water for him to eat. He ate like an animal. I covered my mouth every time I see him eating. And one day he also vanished like his son. My mother said he was dead but I saw no one. I never thought death would be so silent. None talked about him or his son or his wife or the little girl. Whole family was disappeared as if it never existed.

After few years I completed my twelfth and was sent to Mumbai for further studies. My father said, ‘don’t get lost in the city, for holidays come home to visit’. I complied. Twice a year end of every semester I came home. Best thing about a small town is that nothing really ever changes. Hair grows grey, belly gets fatter and that is that, houses are same as they were ten years ago, roads in same pathetic conditions, electricity always forcing you to sleep sweaty and struggling with rise of temperature, I could see the pile of garbage at the same place accumulating, which I used to see ten years back. Nothing changes in a small town, not even habits. I sat near the window and looked at the empty stairs of Shekhar’s house.  It was no more his house. His uncle has broken the wall and it was one house now. Sometimes a dead family can be a reward for someone.

It was the vacation after fifth semester. I was at home watching tv when there was a knock on the door. Windblown hair, thin athletic physic, shiny brown eyes, extensively shaved cheeks and dusky skin color I knew who he was. He had grown in a fine young lad and I could compare him with many of my friends in collage. He wore a plane blue shirt with black trousers as if a sales representative of a motor company. He smelled of some aftershave which I could not recognize.

‘Shekhar?’ came out of my mouth and a twinkle from his eyes. He smiled, ear to ear, a full smile of a genuine happiness.

‘I thought I would have to introduce myself’ he said.

He handed me a fancy envelop and waited. It was a marriage invitation card. ‘Anu’ I read. His name was nowhere to be found. I looked at his eyes, they were still smiling. ‘My sister is getting married’. His step-sister he meant. The little girl of his step mother. I tried to hide my surprise. I wanted to know the story but there was no courage to ask. He might ask, ‘why bother now?’

‘I am not inviting anyone else but you.’ He waited while I tried to grasp his words. He must have understood my confusion and went on explaining.

‘You gave me what I needed the most. I could never have survived if it was not you. Every time I saw you and the life you were living, your family, your school uniform, your cricket bat, cycle you rode, all made me live the same life, I could see myself playing and going to school. I remember once you shut your window, it broke my heart, not because I could not see you watching tv but because I could not see myself watching tv. You know what? You gave me motive; you gave me motive not to die like my father but to live.’ 

I stood there looking, at him and further beyond, inside deep in his soul he was not that small boy anymore. He was far greater than any of us. My father used to say, one cannot be great by just living a normal life. The more you struggle the more you are moving towards greatness. You worry about all those small hurdles and get depressed. What you do not see is the life beyond you. Life is an exam where the syllabus is unknown and question papers are not set. It’s full of mysteries and miseries. One does not become great by flunking and running. One has to face it and answer the questions.

Here I was seeing a young man who was of my age, answering the questions with confidence. He was in a position to choose the audience of his victory. The card I was holding my hand was nothing but the mark sheet, the result of his success. I was proud that I was the one he chose.

‘I would really appreciate if you can make it to the marriage’

‘I sure will’ I had said, what I wanted to say was that I would not miss it for half of my life. I wanted to know rest of his story. I wanted to know how he answered the toughest questions life has thrown on him. I wanted to see that little girl, who kept crying while her mother carried her away. I wanted to know how the boy, who was indifferent of the events at that time towards his step-sister, was now inviting me for her marriage.  I wanted to know it all.

By the time I came out of my thoughts he was already gone. I saw him walking away. He did not go back to his house. He did not even throw a glance towards it, which was once his own house. He had outgrown it. I had read it somewhere, person who believes in himself, never looks back at what is lost. He looks towards what is coming to him. Life is all in present and what you make out of it in future. Past is for hiding. Courage never hides, it faces from the front.

I looked back at the street; he was nowhere to be found. I realized that I did not even ask him for a glass of water. ‘Who was it?’ my mother asked peeking out of the kitchen.

‘An old friend’ I said.