"She wasn't
doing a thing I could see, except standing there on the balcony railing,
holding the universe together".
That
was JD Salinger. Speaking perhaps about love. But for me, the words convey
something somewhat different.
Standing
outside the most morose and honest of all places, you witness two aged men-both
with grey flowing beards, disheveled rags, coarse skin and weathered faces. Mendicants.The
creases on their faces reflect the stern lives they have experienced. Yet, the
composure on their faces reflects a measure of equanimity that is hard to
mirror.
The
sun shines bright through the descending rain. It is only a slight drizzle, not
enough to even drown the gurgle of the river in the distance. The wafting breeze
throws up a slight nip and one of them asks the other for a smoke. They are
stretched languidly upon the damp grass, across the cobbled path from each
other, contemplating the expressions of the other.
The
response is a firm no. The reason is the accusation of parsimony. The beseecher
falls silent, visibly crestfallen. The would-be benefactor rolls a beedi across his fingers, relishing its
rough texture and makes to light it. Then pauses. Digs into his pocket. Fishes
out another beedi, looks wistfully at
it, pulls himself onto his feet and walks across. He doesn’t say a word, but
the smile on his face as he lights the two with a single match conveys it all.
To
the outside world, they are old and battered. But not, perhaps, to each other.
Perhaps they know each other as they always were. Perhaps they know each other’s
hearts, share private jokes, remember feuds and secrets, griefs and joys. For
this moment, if not in others, they are brothers. They shall never grow old in each others eyes, always remain the mischievous,
timid, protective confidants that they always have been.
To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his Gods.
