Spring — 1983

Walking back home, into the park, there was this particular tree which My Grandpa used to tell me as, “This tree is older than I am.” I used to come play in this park very often as a Kid. Grandpa used to take me here. He’d catch up with friends and me with mine. He played cards and me, Ball. Very often I’d try to climb up this tree, but after many unsuccessful attempts, I gave up. Then I grew up and Grandpa went to the other world. Neither did I came to play here anymore, nor was anyone there to bring me here. There were different names etched on the bark, mostly lovers put in one heart with a date below. Some were really old. The oldest one was of summer-1942. All those things never meant a thing to me when I was a kid. Not that now they mean anything to me, but what I had realized is that they were of some significance to someone at some particular time of their lives. The oddest thing about all these was that there weren’t any dates after spring-1983. I had my workplace at a walking distance from my new house and the way was through this park. Every day I pass by this tree and every day I do so I start to think what happened after spring-1983. My Grandpa was alive then. Only if I had the conscience back then.

“I’m home!” I announced entering the house.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she screamed from the shower. I placed my bag on the couch and took my shoes off. Putting my feet on the table I took the remote and switched on the television. To be absolutely honest, I never liked television much. It was the most melancholic and Intimidating thing that could possibly exist. The shows which were interesting enough were those which showed me how there were so many places around the world where I can travel, but never will, the food which I can cook and eat, but never will, so many things which I can do, but never will. And how could I? The captivation of my invariably stultified life was so overwhelming that there seemed no escape out of it.

She came with a towel wrapped around her head and a cup of coffee in one hand a cigarette in other. Sat side me. Put her feet on the table beside mine and leaned her head on rest.

“How was your day?” she asks, turning her face towards me and taking a drag.

“You know; the usual."

Later that night we had ordered food from outside. Neither she or I were in the mood for cooking. However we had dinner and without much talking, I went to sleep. After a while, she joined me. She came and started massaging me on shoulders.

"Why are you so tired today? Did your boss load you with work again?”

“Actually, there wasn’t much work today. There is never much job when you work for the government. I just happened to be tired of life.”

She looked at me and I at her. She sensed something was disturbing me. She looked confused.

“I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll be all good at the end. We just need to learn to give some time.”

She played with my hair until I finally dozed off to sleep.

I opened my eyes to her kiss. She was late for her job; I wasn’t. She made me a cup of coffee and kissed and went. While I took the coffee cup and a burning cigarette in my hand to the porch. For some reason unknown, the rising sun looked immensely beautiful. I looked all around and it all looked so good, so beautiful. It was that I was happy to find everything beautiful. It all actually felt beautiful and everyone seemed happy but I wasn’t. I was just as weak as I was the night before. I got ready, had my breakfast and took off for my daily routine. Walk through the park, reached the office, lay with ease as there is never any work.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.