Struggle

He stepped out hurriedly into the outside world, trying to step faster but the city cold air impeded his aging knees inflicting with great pain. Pushing the bamboo cane mercilessly on the jagged road, he paced toward the end of the street. He coughed harder, lungs aching with each fit. This is what eats of half of his time in the morning. The coolness of early morning as freshening in the village as it is harsh in this city. He missed those days in village. He missed them more as he had no way back to there. He had to come with his only son and stay with them. Literally it was worse than any other phase of his life.

He pulled his wife’s sweater tighter around himself, pushing his gnarled hands deeper into the pocket only to having the middle finger slip through the hole in left pocket. He reminded himself to be careful with his wife’s last piece of tangible memory.

It took him bit longer to reach at the temple. By the time he reached people were starting to gather up. It was Thursday which means there will be more visitors today than any other days. He bent down to touch the temple entrance as usual to worship and entered praying Goddess.

Suddenly the temple priest came to him. “Where were you till now? Again late.” He hollered holding the arati thali.

“Not his fault. I have been getting late these days. ” He thought silently getting to his place near footwear stand.

“You know it right? New temple management committee is really strict. If you continue to do like this you will this job also.” The priest continued.

He looked at him through his wrinkle clouded eyes. It was harder to see his face properly even from that distance. He needed a reading glass, he knew it well but he kept delaying it thinking in next more salary he will get it. Now if he loses this job also, where will he get his food from? He doesn’t have any emotive strength to tolerate the accusal glances from his son or daughter-in-law and he has no other place to go after selling his home in village.

“I will come earlier.” He softly answered him.

“Okay. Okay.” The priest left him to work.

He nodded and started arranging footwear into the stand.  People came and wore their footwears and dropped one rupee in his hand. He clutched the money in his hand and evaluated that he has to collect at least hundred rupees regardless of what happens. He dropped in the pouch from where at the end of day committee will collect money happens and headed towards another day of struggle to keep his job secured.

Company

They sat there, under the torn palm leaves doing a poor job of covering their head.It was raining, not heavy though, just persistent one and in between the thick fog curtain and cloud chandeliers one can see the sun, wane and alone just a little bulb of phosphorus. He loosely held her hand in his. Her hand, chapped and callous of working over hours bare under heat and dirt. Vein were countable over the palm like some tunnels. But he was happy. She looked into his eyes. They were pale, in clutch of cataract. Wrinkles were as big as sand dunes spread over his face and getting lumpier whenever he gave her a toothy smile. He held her hand more tightly and brought it close to his chapped lips and kissed. She shied, shuddered with a thin fear what if somebody sees them like this. Of course there was a slim chance of that. No one cared to step out in such a cold rainy day, a beautiful chance for them to sit together again, just like fifty years before. If anyone says Life is too long, then they must be the most loveless persons in the world. Or else it has never been long for them, neither in sickness nor in destitution, neither in hunger nor in desire. Just nothing could tear them apart from their company.