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My good morning friend

As I stand on the fringe of the tiny veranda almost flushing the last step of stairs, in the imprints of the leftover oil on the sidewall pavement, I can see a plate with a tumbler of sugar-free tea with bits of Marie biscuits or remains of achar, resting after a delightful consumption whenever I was trying to rush to the hospital and there was a good morning exchange with my octogenarian friend (I am sure he would not accept being called even a senior citizen considering his alertness and perfect cognition).

My good morning friend

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Poonam Singh

As I stand on the fringe of the tiny veranda almost flushing the last step of stairs, in the imprints of the leftover oil on the sidewall pavement, I can see a plate with a tumbler of sugar-free tea with bits of Marie biscuits or remains of achar, resting after a delightful consumption whenever I was trying to rush to the hospital and there was a good morning exchange with my octogenarian friend (I am sure he would not accept being called even a senior citizen considering his alertness and perfect cognition).

From sports to some festival or politics or whatever burning issue his newspaper would interest him that day — my day would start with his thoughtful and reflective one-liners. Such was his rightful guardianship that any stranger — be it the delivery boy or the newspaper bill wala — had to pass through the strict censor of his vigilance and prove his due credentials before climbing to my third floor house. Evenings would be reserved for a little longish intellectual chatter, depending on when my shoulder would get tired of holding my lunch and errands bag as he would be comfortably sitting in a Nilkamal chair with his crutch slanting by his side. Mostly I was listening, at other times only hearing — old people don't mind that too even if we are a little zoned out due to overwork.

As life energy was weaning, he became like a sensor of good weather. If it was the onset of autumn or spring, in my mind I could see that today his chair would come out from hibernation. My meetings gradually were replaced by him on bed like an island surrounded by heaps of medicines or medical gadgets.

It was so heart-warming to see how even if his body was gasping for more life, his inner being was blissful, surrounded with a loving family with sounds of grandkids learning Hindustani classical music or household stirs and aroma of ashtmi halwa chana.

Pray he has left this contaminated planet for a brighter star where he is enjoying his seven-course meal with his favourite mutton or desi ghee laddoos with some high cal cookies as an add-on.

It is weekend and I can still place his chair on the threshold of the veranda with his stern voice in the most appropriate English tutoring board exam kids as many as that space could accommodate with lot of tough love. His words of wisdom shall stay!

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