2 July, 2010


Darkness was gathering from behind grey cloud, and I was hurrying home from my walk. There was this bandi in my way, and as I stepped aside, I remembered another beside our school, the old man would sell guavas sprinkled with some mixture of salt and red pepper. A closer look told me it was lemons, not extra-yellow guavas that this old man was selling.
There was no rush of students around him; just a little girl squealing that she wanted one too, and her elder sister, who teasingly advised patience before she skipped away with hers. The old man, clad in that typical white shirt, blue-checked dhoti, and matching pagdi, cigarette in his mouth, smiled indulgently, as he carefully cut a perfectly yellow lemon into four not-yet-separated pieces and added his salt-n-pepper mix. I caught his eye--he chuckled something about kids--then stole a look at the beaming girl.  She returned my smile, willing me to share in her joy, so pure in its innocence, and the happiness swelling in my bosom was almost painful, certainly more that I could bear. I abruptly looked away and directed swift steps homeward.