P.S: This is my feeble attempt at meaningful fiction. I am thankful to Kanagu for tagging me with this wonderful idea. I tag all my blogger buddies and request you to weave a story around any photo in your pics folder. Sorry Kanagu, I relaxed the rules a bit. By the way, this was the last photo in my favorite photos folder and it was the fifth!
He was frail now, as frail as the grass underneath the bench. He knew his fingers had started shaking again. He joined them tight across his folded knees and began to wonder, “How long?” He was tired and this evening that he sat on the park bench symbolised the evening of his life too. He longed for the night – the night of his life.
Every little wish of a child cannot be fulfilled for want of a slightly higher need and bread was indeed necessary than an admission to kindergarten. So, Anna being the eldest took to the family profession of tailoring. He did the measuring and the sizing with precision but one hardly ever saw a ‘measuring tape or scale’ in his shop. Years passed by, Anna grew up, the only tailor in town to sew the best for the best though he was un-lettered. His siblings were posted in government agencies by virtue of their literacy. So, Anna brought the family a notch above. Bread is good but not better than school.
But, little Anna had a wish – he wanted to go to school, he wanted to read, write and sing just like the children at the nearby school. The wish died as he had grown up. Learning the letters seemed unnecessary and he could fend for himself and his siblings. He improved with every suit and sometimes was even amazed with the precision perfect cutting! Still, he just couldn’t feel the calm – the kind of calm that comes to a man who has found his calling in life. He felt like a light-house keeper, the old man who does his duty, watching endless horizons of black, blue or green and sometimes with the sun playing along, he would be treated to reds, golden yellows and vermillion. Days merged into nights and the horizon would disappear, but the light house never failed to guide the ships that roamed the nights.
Who takes care of the light-house keeper? Well, alcohol did for Anna. He took to drinking like a baby turtle to the sea. He drowned in its many flavors but was awake somehow at the sewing machine. Days merged into nights and slowly into years…Anna had made a name, Anna was the very symbol of sacrifice and hardwork. But, one day he coughed and coughed and spewed out blood – his liver gave way.
His nieces take care of him now; they teach him the alphabets but he cannot seem to have any control on his shaky fingers. He can read and sing but he still longs to write…
Moral: Nature has its own way and takes its own sweet time in fulfiling our desires. Be patient and trust in the forces. There is always an “and it happened” moment some time.