Sridevi Sudheer
My childhood friend,
an innocent, tender hearted old man,
around seventy.
His beard
flowing, thick and shaggy.
His steps faltered, as he walked.
An accident had left him with a limp on his right leg,
he never complained though.
He had been my grandfather's loyal servant.
Not a single day passed by,
without him rendering his faithful services to his master.
He came everyday, without fail
as he also found solace in his friendship with a four year old.
He would spend his time,
doing small chores and running errands.
An hour or so,
he would sit on the floor of the verandah,
watching the shimmer of the freshly washed leaves of the big old neem tree.
Many a times, as he absent mindedly stared into the air,
he would be interrupted by my constant childish chattering.
He helped me play on the swing,
and looked with awe and amazement,
as I soared high with mischievous laughter.
I combed his hair and beard tidy,
with my grandfather's favourite comb.
A little gesture of gratitude for putting up with my mischief.
In response he would very politely tell, 'No, my dear little girl. Your grandfather will be very angry'.
My little heart turned a deaf ear to his unnecessary worries,
and guided me to give him tight hugs with my tiny hands.
I loved him without any kind of condescension,
The kind of love only a child could give to the world.
One evening after school,
I waited for my dear friend to come as usual ,
but he didn't come.
Then another day passed.
Days went by.
He no longer came.
Gloomy, I asked my mother why he wasn't coming.
She replied , " He has gone to God."
I wondered where God lived.
I quickly pointed my tiny finger to the vast sky and asked,
"There? Does God live there, amma? Has 'Kuppelachan' gone there?
Thick, dark clouds covered the sky.
The endless sky bore the gloom of the rains,
a pervading grief of nature.
My mom just silently nodded a yes,
with a pain at heart.
What really could she have told a four year old child,
with no philosophies.
How could she elucidate to her,
that her dear friend,
burdened by sorrow,
forsaken by his children,
had taken his own life.
How could she explain
about the great parting - death,
from which none returns.
How could she illuminate,
that man clings to hope with all his might,
Till the day arrives,
when the heart is bled dry,
and it fiercely breaks through its bonds and departs,
To a realm, unknown.
Note : 'Kuppelachan/Kuppelan', in my mother tongue literally translates to "the one who is found from trash." Even to this day, I wonder how could someone be unfairly given such a name.