Good people come in different shapes and sizes, but they all have same eyes. Eyes that can touch the depth of your heart, and repair the hurt instantly. How fickle the words become then.
I always struggled to reach office on time, still do … Sometimes. Mornings were rush, I would sit with tea for long and then hunt around kitchen for spices and things. Trying to catch the leaving bus always spoiled my day. I would promise my self an early morning next day but the next day never came.
A kannad family lived next to us. Early risers! I always found them quite and sacred. Uncle was a hindu and aunty a Christian. They were a lovely couple who enjoyed solitude. Uncle always wore well ironed pants and shirt and left for office around 8:30am. He was a well read man, and looked intelligent. Somehow I have grown up with a belief that people who wear well ironed cotton clothes and specs are intelligent. And most of the South Indians that I have come across are highly intelligent and religious in their personal habits. So I always looked up to this couple. And uncle also had those kind beautiful eyes that created the fatherly aura around him.
Though I always avoided meeting people then, (being social is hell lot of a job for me.) I would try to have a glance, whenever I saw uncle or aunty walking out. They looked so pure, they made me happy.
One day uncle’s office time changed. We left together or often met at the bus stop. I would greet him and run for the bus. “Does he think, I am always in a hurry” I wondered. A week or two latter, the bus was late, uncle came to me and said ” it’s a long day. Prepare yourself for the day. If you began like this it will be difficult for you to move on”
Until then my work culture and my own behaviour had assured me that people always criticize others. Even in silence the manners are provocative, hurtful or sarcastic. He proved me wrong. In short simple words he taught me the most important thing as a doer. His assertion and gentleness affected me deeply. I was overwhelmed with his words which i knew were out of concern.
I lost my father when I was very young and as a child I always searched for that fatherly love in people. I have missed him in my decisions. And sometimes even missed that somebody who would just stand next to me. But we got used to it. For that one moment I felt if I had a father, so would have been the words.
A few days later he died of a heart attack. He had changed his office time to take rest.
How do people die in a flash!
It is three years now. I m glad that I was able spend those few mornings at the bus stop with him. Bless his soul.
Love for Aunty and their lovely daughter.
The wild Pen 