The beginning was blurred; there was a lot of hullabaloo around him. He was wrapped up, taken care of and treated like a prized possession. It was certainly not telling of the journey which lied ahead of him. Assured by his creator of a purpose, he was soon on his own. Moving on, traveling through lives, touching people, craving for a bond. A bond, which was not ordained for those who were of his kind. Yet he traveled, knowing that it would not all be wasted in the end.
People came and went. Some say, he came and went. The change was the routine of his life. And his destiny was like a child, who would not let the sand settle in a jar of water. Shaking up his world even before he could make it his own. Keeping up the beacon of hope was not easy. It was not easy to keep himself going, filled with hopes of achieving a travelogue which would be worthy of a proud final rest.
His creator had stamped him with his own indelible mark. That the stamp made every creation of his as special as the rest, was commonly rumored. However it didn’t take long for him to realize that more than all the valuable reflections of his creator’s identity, it was something else which was really of value to the world. Some called it his worth, some called it a number and many others would just make up new adjectives to describe it. And strangely, his entire self, which glowed with the impartiality of his creator, was marred by one attribute which was not the same as all others. He had heard that his kind was not the only one cursed with such attributes. Religion, color, caste and creed, although unheard among his kinds, were very much a reality for men. The fact that they were separated from their own brethren by one unnecessary attribute, gave him a feeling of bonding with mankind.
And then, in the countless days that made his journey, came a day which made it the journey. He never forgot that tender touch, the fragrance of excitement in those hands and the radiance of hope in that smile. He realized, for the first time, the distinctness didn’t matter. To this person, he meant all the worth in the world. And for the first time, someone called him his own. That longing, that bonding which had always been missing in his rest-stops, had finally been found in this person. And for the first time after his creator, someone marked him, without soiling him. Shall he call this the purpose? Is this what his creator wanted him to provide to this machinery of existence. He would like to believe that, because he knew his journey was over. Although he was soiled from his travels but the long wait for a proud final rest had been rewarded.
Life, no-one told him, is the most exciting of all lovers. She comforts you when you are in discomfort. She wakes you up to pleasant mornings after a well deserved night of rest. She surprises you with charms un-imaginable. She makes you work hard, lest you get complacent about her assured presence. She rewards you with brief spells of love, to lure you into the effort that the relationship is. And just when you feel like you are home, she moves on, leaving you alone with an unfinished fate which will never be completed by anyone else. Just like that, when he thought he was home at last, he was on the road again. Those hardworking hands, let go of him, exchanging for something which promised more.
I began my morning oblivious to the presence of ‘the lone traveler’. As I reached into my wallet and pulled out the worth of my breakfast, my eyes caught the mark on the lone traveler. Instantly my hand retracted from the reach of the cashier. I took a close look at him and something within told me, this traveler would not be moving on for my breakfast. Pocketing him instantly, I reached back into my wallet and pulled out another traveler and handed him over to the cashier. As I stepped aside from the anxious queue behind me, I stopped and pulled him out of my pocket and read the mark left by that bond which changed him forever. I tried decoding the botched English and Hindi words, and read this “My first Salary. – Culcatta – Hamara naam Chandramani Singh – Kalkada”
A gush of memories is stronger than a broken dam which washes out entire villages. The lone traveler brought back a gush, mixed with longing and fondness for that lost mate whom I had once entrusted with my own ‘lone traveler’. I longed to see that mark which I left on my traveler and the enormousness of emotions behind those tiny marks of ink, which no-one else saw. Whether or not those emotions are rewarded, I know my traveler deserved to be rewarded, for sacrificing himself so I could participate in an important exchange of emotions with my lost mate.
I knew when life forced the Bengali to part ways with his own traveler; he left the mark so that someone, who could afford it, would give him the much deserved rest. And as a symbol of my respect for their un-acknowledged efforts, I promised this lone traveler, “You are resting with me, till I can afford it!! Because somewhere on some unknown streets, my own traveler would be waiting for his unfinished fate to be fulfilled, may be on the streets of Culcatta…”
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Wondering what triggered this randomgiri ?? .. here it is …
