A Glimpse…

 

   He sat there motionless, on the cold, wet wooden bench of the mall, looking in the distance; Cold and stiff. If someone saw him for the first time, he appeared nothing less than a stone statue; lifeless and cold. But, at regular interval, a cloud of breathe escaping from his half parted lips claimed of his earthly existence.

One morning, when I woke up it was drizzling outside, but my love for fresh air and sweet music of chirping birds urged me to leave comfort of my warm bed and take a brisk walk round the mall road. A routine I never missed.

A many familiar faces passed me, exchanging smiles. Some simply walked while others jogged. As I walked past the end of Governor’s House a familiar figure caught my attention. It was sight of the same stranger, occupying the same spot. Like any other day, I didn’t want to walk away. Something stopped me this time.

“Hello Sir”, I greeted the stranger as I drew near him. “I am really sorry to disturb you, but my curious and inquisitive nature compels me to do so. I am really sorry again.” “Who are you Sir, and may I know what is it, that brings you here every day?”

His turned his head a little. All this while his eyes fixed in the distance. It seemed he didn’t want to miss something. Something he had been waiting for ages. Through his half-parted lips escaped, ‘Sengupta, Sourajit Sengupta’. ‘Do not disturb me please’, he murmured sternly.

I started, but my legs wouldn’t move. I couldn’t leave, and carry on with my daily routine. All I wanted to know, why he was there?, what it was, that made this man bear this harsh weather, without  the slightest discomfort?

Slowly with heavy heart I went round the bench, and sat beside the stranger. He didn’t pay the slightest attention to see who occupied the space beside him. I too sat there without uttering a word. All I could hear was his heavy breathing and creaking of crickets from the bushes occupying the hill-side.

At regular intervals I turned my head a little, to seek for the moment when I could spark off conversation but I was left dismayed. Mr.Sengupta didn’t bother to find who was looking at him. He sat there like a yogi in meditation; calm and composed.

‘Sorry to disturb you again, Sir, but do tell me why every morning you come here, sit on the same spot for endless hours and do nothing but gaze in the distance?’ ‘Is this your way of contemplating upon a thought or is it something else?’

‘Sir’, said Mr.Sengupta, breaking the long silence. ‘Many years ago when I was in high school, I read about Mark Twain’s visit to Darjiling. There I read that Twain stayed for a month in Darjiling, just to get a glimpse of Mt. Kanchenjunga. But his stay turned futile. During his stay thick clouds and fog veiled Mt.Kanchenjunga from his sight.’ ‘He left Darjiling with a heavy heart.’

‘There runs a belief among the commoners that only the lucky one gets to catch a glimpse of the mighty peak, said Mr.Sengupta.’So, I come here every vacation to try my luck’.

I released a long breathe, stood slowly and started walking with words, ‘Best of Luck, Sir’. I guess he didn’t bother to listen to what I was saying, for when I turned to see him, he was looking in the distance; lifeless and cold.

                                                                Image Courtesy-Google Images