Nobody would know.

Jalaj Gambhir
Sep 9, 2018 · 4 min read

Like a covert government operation buried beneath dusty piles of files. Or like an untold narrative of a perished scripture. The ordeals of a prisoner wrongly accused of a crime within confines of a dark, damp cell and the constant struggles of the person, you found weird the other day, trying to bend the societal norms and live his heart out in his last few days, are stories that nobody would know.

Photo Courtesy: Ishu Tiwari ( instagram.com/ishutiwari )

It was 29th April, of a year you wouldn't probably predict. The sky above was full of dark ragged clouds, blocking the sun and uttering the rumble of a thunder every few minutes, prophesying the arrival of a misty shower. The blaring traffic in the middle of the city slithered through the roads, with drivers commenting on everything wrong the world had in store for them, instead of savoring the breeze that knocked on their windshields.

Some silently mocked him for standing on the roadside and holding a ‘Free Hugs’ placard, while a handful of others, gently, for a moment, applauded his service of spreading love. But, how his desolated-self, mustered the nerve to act upon his craving for human contact, nobody would know.

It had been six years, five months and twelve days since they last met, and separated, at this very crossroad, where he stood today with the placard as high as his stunted arms could stretch. He hid his pale brown eyes and the blemishes of the dark circles under those opaque spectacles. The ragged, graying beard with bristles untidily flowing outwards in all directions was another reason for every passerby’s reluctance. Other reasons included his shady countenance and amusingly long legs. The locals had attributed him as the ‘needy’ guy, who showed up every Saturday afternoon for hugs, while little kids were taught that this is what they would grow up to if they didn’t study hard. But none of the opinions mattered to him.

As the light drizzle gently tapped on his forehead and trickled down through his over-sized white shirt, he caught a glimpse of her across the street. Who she was to him, well, nobody would ever know. Accompanying her was a little girl clutching the finger of her mother with her hand, giggling to random strangers and bouncing to music only she could hear. She looked up at the sky, with her wide brown eyes reflecting her soul, and embraced the raindrops on her puffy cheeks. The tiny pink clip neatly tucked her black curls in their place, and the blue dress with white dots made her more adorable.

He looked at them through his misty glasses and a sense of warmth caressed his otherwise cold heart. The pair rushed in his direction, to seek shelter, as the drizzle transformed itself to a steady shower from the untamed clouds. The crash of the downpour against the corrugated metal roof protected the triad.

‘Mom, he needs a hug’, whispered the little girl after her interpretation of the placard. Her mother scrutinized the yet unnoticed individual from head to toe, and an uncertain resemblance struck her mind. He stood there, still, like a rock, fearing identification. And she snubbed her conscious.
‘No, he doesn’t. He is giving free hugs, and there is a difference’, resisted her mother.
‘How do you know?’, the adamant kid said while walking towards him, and wrapping her arms around his leg.

He stood there, numbed by the unexpected first hug for a while. A lump choked his throat while his stretched hands gave up to exhaustion and the placard dropped to the ground. He felt something for the second time in his life. Something, they call love, yet for him, it always was an unwavering sensation that refuses to leave his heart. The insatiable desires, that had threatened to devour his insides over the years, had finally, for a moment, been defeated. Series of flashbacks reminded him of the torrent of emotions that they had gone through over the years. The tears that they shed behind closed doors, in the comfort of darkness, were the sentiments that the locals would never know.

‘Let’s go now, Dad’s here’, the mother said, while grabbing the kid’s arm. The man stepped out of his car to hold the umbrella for his family, as the two crouched towards their ride.
‘Where were you, we waited for so long’, complained the mother.
‘I’m sorry, was stuck in traffic’, he replied while giving her a hug.

An incomplete story, a journey put to halt.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade