About half an hour ago, he had showed up at my place seeking my escort service. “I need to drop this packet at a friend‘s place and pick up some pictures from another person,” he said.He was always lousy about finding houses. Most of the times, he would lose way in the residential colonies, often making circles of the same place.
I was reluctant. On my day off and for a chilly evening, staying back home seemed a better and warmer idea. But knowing his style, I decided to give him company.
“I have not been to their place very many times. I guess, this is the second instance though I keep meeting them – both the husband and the wife - at their corporate offices and outside. They had a baby in October and this is the first time I will meet them after that. They have moved to a new flat.” He was introducing me to destination number one.
* * * * * *
As we waited for a few minutes, V opened the door. Slowly. Almost carefully. I saw the baby, looking like a bundle of white wool, fallen asleep on his left shoulder. “Come on in,” he said, with a whispering tone.
It was quiet inside. It was kind of cozy. Bright and warm. The light green wall-hangings clearly stood out on the shining white background. There were two portraits on the wall behind the cane sofa. The cabinet right in front boasted of different kinds of toys. A large curtain separated the living space from the dining hall. It was dimly lit.
“I returned from office only a while ago,” V said, gently patting his daughter and gestured us to sit on the divan.
“You seem to be enjoying every bit of fatherhood,” he asked.
“It feels great to be with my daughter. She sleeps and sleeps and is barely awake when I return home,” V said as his wife walked in with a dropper in hand. The baby’s medicine, I thought.
“Did you manage to put her to sleep? Or is she still awake?” she asked. V just nodded as he gently brought the baby back into his arms for the medicine.
We kept chatting for quite a while before he realized it’s time to leave the family alone.
* * * * * *
He drove silently, keeping his eyes on the road; his mind apparently was elsewhere. Twenty minutes later, we were in front of an apartment that appeared to have lost power supply.
E – Block, Flat No 3. Straight towards the end of the line and first floor, the security guard pointed out.
The apartment looked worn out to me. Flat No 1 and 2 were locked and No 4 was had some men working on renovation.
He hit the doorbell this time. “It’s open. Come on in,” said the voice. As we walked in, B greeted us with a feeble smile, which did not, in any manner, hide its affection. He taught English literature, I was told on my way.
The floor was cold; the tube-lights did enough for the two-bedroom flat though. But it was very quiet in there. The white walls looked pensive and the almost-no-furniture rooms exuded an expansive feeling.
The living room virtually had nothing to show. One room across the hall had a computer surrounded by books and more books, all of them littered in gay abandon gathering dust at some places. The bedroom had a TV set just across the bed and a moulded chair.
B was a bachelor. Almost a genius and wasted to a large extent. He lived a solitary life (Someone wise had said: Only God is entitled to solitude) and was not keeping good health. The failing health showed on B’s face.
The curling smoke from the cigarette he held was the only thing that made some “noise” in an otherwise somber ambiance of the flat.
“My doctor would be furious to see this. I was categorically asked to stay away from smoking but have had three since the morning. Just can’t help,” laughed B; his laughter had a tremendous sense of honesty in it.
A little later, we left B alone with his life.
* * * * * *
“How disturbingly contrast were they,” I said as we drove back home.
“I found them happy and quiet in their own ways,” he replied, “It’s all about how you look at it.”
(Image: Flickr)
