Saturday, August 25, 2012

End of August

There's a guy, not too old, lives in the opposite villa. Not much of him is known to me. Tall guy, bearded and sparse greying hair. Behaves queer.

Portions of his living room is visible from the window of my room. Vast empty space with just a table , a small refrigerator, an old fashioned television set and a recliner. A minimalist it seems.

On quiet nights, through the worn out curtains blown by the cool breeze, he is seen lying on the recliner. the TV (volume muted) streaming a medley of images cast strange shadowy shapes of flickering light that leaped all over the otherwise dark hall. There were electric lights in the house though, I suppose, there must be !
 He did not seem to watch the programs being aired. The mute live TV just seemed to fill in for a companion.

People sometimes say he is/was married. Some even claim to have seen his wife in yesteryears. There's a little photo frame with a lady's picture in it, he sometimes carries to the balcony and stares silently at it for hours leaning over the parapet. Maybe that's his wife. Not many visitors come by apart from a sweet little girl who comes along occasionally for a few hours in a chauffeured car. The silent old guy sports a rare bright smile on those days. Even the little one seems to enjoy his company.

The man becomes oddly strange when it rains. Sometimes he just stands and stares at the falling drops, imagining things or maybe remembering things in the past. At lengths, his distant gaze turns into a faint smile or a little tear in the corner of his eye.

Last night, when it rained, the guy emerged from the dark hall, a drink in his hand.He stood in the balcony staring at the falling drops. The street light in the lane faintly illuminated his face which revealed his swollen eyes. He held out the drink in his hand into the rain until few drops splashed into his glass. He then sipped from it slowly. Then, weak and heavy, he collapsed to the balcony floor, falling down on his knees. His bowed head clutched in his hands. I could hear him sob for quite sometime after which he just got up and disappeared into the insides.

The glass from which the left over drink spilled on the tiled balcony floor kept rolling there.


1 comment:

MothSmokeLover said...

This made me really sad. One of the worst things in life is to be alone when one's getting older.

Very well written though. Loved the imagery you created with words.