I try to write stories at times. This was written -feb 2014
Where Was I?
It was the 2nd of February.I had just picked up my sons from karate class and true to Sunday morning's tradition for the last few months we were about to embark on a fun outing.
We took a tram from Ballygunge and decided to go the whole hog upto the terminal, which was just before Howard Bridge.
It was so sunny.The sights and sounds were colorful deafening..the midday call of the mullahs from the mosques near Sealdah, spicy smell of Biriyani, the cries of hawkers, vendors, tea sellers, gaggles of brightly dressed folks out on Sunday.It was all very absorbing.
Suddenly on a hunch I just plucked my 2 kids off their seats and literally carried them off the tram.
I had seen this man before.He was a do gooder, a harmlessly benign social worker who claimed to be a Jehovah's witness..I recalled my college days and meeting him regularly distributing sheaves of pamphlets.
one day I rudely retorted that I did not believe in god.The next day he begged me to take just one pamphlet. He was suddenly gone while my amused fury at his audacity was not.Not even after these many years.I recognised Linton d' Costa and accosted him.
"Hullo there.hope you recognize me? "I spoke tartly."I am the girl you handed a single type written sheet to.what did it say now? "
Linton gleamed behind his glasses with amusement.Short and stocky and now with a slightly more noticeable launch.
"Dearest Amy....how are you? "
"Quite Well. (I spoke in firm resounding capitals)As you can see these are my kids. Do you still..." I left all questions hanging in the air to elicit the maximum response.
"No I don't do all that sort of thing anymore.
My wife and I sort of gave up on active faith-based works long back.
We lost 2 of our own you know. One after the other.Then Josephine left me."
He paused.
"It was just too much.
For her, I mean.
And well.." Linton paused in a moment of deep brown study.
"For me too Amy" he softly whispered.
I stood shamefaced with palpitating heart. At my artful little investigation and the pause-ridden replies of a hurting being.
I felt like I should melt into the sunshine and leave this lonesome unhappy man alone, lonelier still but never ever again disturb his peace.
My babies curious but friendly looked at him placidly, sunny sides up.
I was scalded inside with a strange recollection.How the non believer was made a mother first and then through loving gratitude, a believer.
Not in God but in goodness.
" Dearest Linton,"I awkwardly sotto voiced."
Remember what you wrote nearly 20 years ago?
"Madness or belief are both states of mind..Let us not dispute.It would be too unkind..."
"I haven't got words for this Linton dear.But we're once again where we were that day. Once again, but with the roles reversed. Keep moving my friend from certainties to uncertainties. To the truth. You've been hurt. Please, don't let it be beyond recovery."
We parted that day on such a pleasant note of gentle understanding.
I realized in that one quiet moment amidst a million meaningless ones, a feeling of where I was.
And I prayed that my heart would forever remember the Lintons in our lives.
Forget them not.They stand as a foil. And testament. They are the salt in our blood sweat and tears. We shed them off like flinching ingrates, and we feel our lives safer sweeter and pleasanter for it.
They are our souls safety nets. We forget to look down, forget they are there. But like it or not, when the chips are down, their immense unfathomable hurts cushion our silly little falls.
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(c) Amrita Valan 2014
