A Story Untold

It would be early to say that day is at twilight mode, yet the arrows of sun are gleaming the eyes. Usually at this moment of day children would have been started their hollering and crawling but today it seems they felt lazy. Even the usual dog strolling has not been started and it seems there are also waiting for the sun glimpse down some. Rays were giving the impression of hollowness to the park’s trees and it seems they are getting defeated of the purpose they had been planted for. But, still some benches beneath the trees were occupied by some old folks. Some were playing their usual hearts where some others were just…sitting; talk seems to be a distant path. Netr Park usually packs with grey hairs at this time and during morning, joggers occupies it. Patterned paths and under tree benches usually attracts passersby’s towards Netr. Now slowly and steadily the blowing breeze is getting cool and numb to cheeks. Krishna tight the wrappings of dupatta on her head the slow blows of wind are making it unfurl. It’s almost like from forever that Krishna thinks she comes to this park. When she was a kid her parents use to bring her here then at teens she use to come here with her friends and also once with a boy, that seems in some other life. After marriage her husband’s ellayachi-wala-paan becomes the reason for her to daily come here after night’s meal. Those days were as fragrant as her husband’s ellayachi-wala-paan’s breath. And now she is here again but this time it’s no other reason than boredom that brings her here. Parents are long dead along with her husband, and her teen age friends and that boy is long lost in time. But of all those losses she is not sad, initially she was but now it seems, inevitable. And now she just waits for her part of inevitable but first she has to go home, her only son, Mithesh will call her this evening. And whenever someone ask her about her son she proudly replies, “Mithu works in that company in whose ad Sharukh Khan comes and Mithu has also seen him, personally.”
“Krishna”, someone holler her name.
And suddenly all the thinking comes to an end, she turns and see her pursuer. Morin was standing there. With silver hair, round wrinkled face and white Punjabi suit she looks like a desi old age Barbie, but this illusion is just till then, she speaks. Age does different things to different people, like Morin who use to be a shy and reserve in nature now blabbers like no one else. Once she is in her mood she can evacuate colonies of people mere by her talk.
“I have no time to listen you, Mithu’s call can come anytime now” Krishna blurted, while getting started towards home. Morin started towards her.
“Mithu’s coming”
“I know your blabbering mouth is dysfunctional but did you ears too get all wrong”, she quicken the pace. “Only his phone call is coming.” She paused for a while, “not him”.
Morin is on a bit talkative side but she knows well when to leave a person alone. She knows what type of solitary confinement Krishna is living. No husband. No Relatives. And now a distant son for all and only distance calls.
Krishna is not that unhappy what people might think of her. Whole week she only waits for Sunday when her son will call her. Whole week she just thinks about what to ask her son, tell him about neighborhood gossips and most of all try to convince him to marry a suitable girl.
Clank! Clank!
Now Krishna is thinking that going to park today was a bad idea. Due to it she is late and now only fifteen minutes are remaining in the phone call. But she knows that more than fifty years of cooking has experienced her enough to cook up a meal in less than ten minutes of time. Otherwise pickle would be nice for dinner instead of bhindi.
Last time her son was very excited about the coming week. He told her that he might get a promotion and may be company will provide him accommodation also, which means Krishna no longer needs to live alone. And due to this news her whole last week was spent in dreaming and planning about what she will cook for her son once she get shifted with him. Mithesh was also excited and told her then that he was looking forward for the week to unfold.
6:55 p.m. still five minutes to go, and she is ready for the call. All chores were done. And which are left are not important then her son’s phone call.
Krishna puts her glasses on her nose but then immediately put them down and started cleaning her glasses with her duppatta. It has its own logic for her that while listening a phone call she must put her glasses on. But in fact it’s quite interesting to note that all old age people put on their glasses while talking on phone may be it helps them in figuring the clouded figures of memoirs form around them when they talk. For the same reason, may be, Krishna also follows the ritual.
Now with cleared glasses on her nose she is waiting to listen the melodious voice of her son’s phone call. Along with telephone, on the table photo of Mithesh is also rested. Though the house is small and patchy but still then, the level of cleanliness was noticeable. Every memento won by Mithesh during his school days were kept by her mother with proud and dignity, like they are no ordinary prizes but war medals.
6:59 and there, 7:00.
Adjusting her glasses thread tied behind her head, Krishna fixed her stare to the phone. Anytime now anytime her Mithesh will call her. Her glasses thread tends to get lose again and again, but with equal determination she tightens it up every time for another time. Age is taking toll on her. Her skull is shrinking and her eyes are burdening them inside. Krishna tend to think that how ironical this life is, whole life you try to become beautiful and more attractive by things god knows how to put on face but still in end each and every one of us looks funny when gets old.
“May be my Mithu will look handsome even when he gets old, he is now. He definitely will. But till then I will be with his Kaka.” Krishna speaks quietly, with gaze on table.
Her back is hurting and her buttocks are also signaling pain to her nerve cells. She slowly puts both her hands on her lap with lower forearms as base; it surely eases out some pain. Her eyes were feeling droopy but still she is struggling with her 65 years old frame to not to go to sleep.
She starts wondering about her son’s delay in calling. He never gets late in this.
“Maybe, Promotion work is making him late”, Krishna amuses.
Where once twilight was looking like a distant dream now night is getting into its grove. People were doing their own bit of their own. Some were strolling out then some were snuggling in. Some were watching their late night shows and some were seeing their daily doses of daily soaps. In one another house accompanied by silent telephone one woman was drooping on her chair and in accompanied house of Morin breaking news was playing on the television set:
“Pune Bomb Blast Victims Name: Kamal, Nikit, Mithesh, Surya…..rest are yet to be verified.”