In A Moment...
It is 5:30 the morning and the winters are here. Somewhere in this vast city, in a small one BHK apartment lives a man in his fifties, Mr. Nath. He like every other day is carrying out his morning routine. He has woken up at 5:30 am, prepared two warm glasses of water, drank one and kept the other in the bedroom. Then, he has got freshened up, has changed into his tracksuit and by 6:30 has gone for his morning walk. Around 8, he has returned, drenched in sweat, with a pack of bread in his hands.
It is 9 am now. He has bathed, has done his morning puja and is now in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Shouting from the kitchen, he’s saying, “Today, I am making Bread Upma. I’m tired of eating Idlis. So, no tantrums, okay...” Smiling, he continued, “Do you remember that time when Mohan would ONLY eat idlis and nothing more. You would always say, ‘This boy is an accidental Maharashtrian.’ ” Mr. Nath chuckled and stated, “How the time flies na...Suju!”
“Hmmmmm…Suju... this smells really nice..!! See… I’m telling you…you’ll love it!” Saying this, Mr. Nath served the bread upma in two plates, made ginger tea, poured it in two cups and bought in the living room. Arranging the plates on each side of the table, he went into the bedroom.
After almost a minute, he came out, holding in his arms, a big framed photo adorned with sandalwood garland, of his wife, Sujata and twenty-year-old son Mohan.
Placing the frame on the table, he sat right in front of it. Eating the breakfast, he animatedly talked to the photo; stuck in the time of that fateful morning, when his wife and son decided to commute by Mumbai local to her sister’s place.
Mr. Nath laughed, cracked joked, reminiscing the life which he shared with his family. His laughs echoed this empty house. And somewhere in this room, amidst this morbid laughter and normalcy, flutters the pages of a two-year-old newspaper, with a cover story:
‘Ten people dead, many severely injured as the foot over bridge collapsed in Mumbai.’
By Priyanka M (Coffee_pen_and_paper)
