Travelling by Indian railways is always a memorable journey. A journey which can be troublesome and boring sometimes, hectic many times but very memorable most of the times.
On my journey from Mumbai to Delhi, I happen to encounter an old man with wizened face where wrinkles were speaking the experience of his life, whose gray hairs were talking of the wealth he is holding, his glow in the face was speaking of his strong commitment, his strong hands were symbol of the hard work but his eyes had a heartbroken emotional outbreak. It appeared as if he had stories to tell….. experience danced on his lips like an innocent child. He was resting silently, those listless eyes just watching, not telling or asking anything.
Suddenly out of his face, my eyes rolled down his shirt. A gentleman attire, with all branded glazed clothes had 3 dots protruding outwardly in his shirt pocket. It appeared to me quite surprising that he didn’t look into these blue dots while donning himself up which otherwise was quite evident in his dress up.
Inquisitive mind could not resist itself in asking about the anomaly in a perfectly balanced place.
Sorry to disturb you Sir, there are some dots on your shirt. Probably you didn’t notice it while wearing the shirt- I said politely. YES … I know there are 3 Dots on my shirt….THESE 3 cute little dots…
He smiled a bit, removed his glass from his eyes, wiped them off.
Having gazed into his nostalgic eyes, he was about to explain why 3 dots. Before that he looked from the sun kissed window outside recalling some hard etched memories, his face was turning into different expressions as if it wanted to express a long story but was unable to kick off the starting point.
My grandson Ayush lives in Canada with his parents- exclaimed a voice, not so strong and not so excited.
Ayush was my best companion in India with whom I used to forget who I am. When he came into this world, his eyes appeared like mine, his smile portrayed me, that’s what the world used to say. I found myself in him. He was too happy with me while he was crossing his infancy. More than his parents I enjoyed growing old with him. His one glance and uttering word DADA to me used to freshen me up for the day. I was reliving my childhood along with him. This happiness was however for 3 years. Now my son has moved to United states to pursue his better career options and earn a fatty pay package.
“My Son is left with more salary and here in Mumbai I am left with only memories”
While one day I was holding him in my arms,he made these 3 dots on my shirts .
Fortunately, these have not faded away yet probably even might also doesn’t want it to happen.
These 3 dots are his reflection, his memories, a loving smile, a nostalgia, a carefree childhood, an upset face of a dejected grandfather.
The day I feel low I prefer wearing this shirt.For me, this is not a piece of shirt , it is a childhood full of memories. It’s a nostalgia that takes me back to a next world, a world where I started 70 years before.
I have too many clothes . I wear what I have and I have quit buying more.
There were some drops of tears about to roll down from his eyes but he somehow managed to contain them. IAM GLAD you noticed these dots Mr……. I uttered Kumud ..My name is Kumud …….Sir it was pleasure meeting you Mr…… he replied Mr. Narayan…
A hand came to my head to bless me . Acha Laga beta aapse milke…..
MY EYES were also sinking in some visual memories of an unconditional love of three generations.