Autograph

After a very long time I found myself walking through the streets of my hometown today. I had to, as I was in search of a tablet for my father. The walk took me to K.A Street, the place that had been so much a part of my growing up. It had at least been fifteen years since I was there and the street did not resemble anything of what my memory could recollect. Tall buildings stand where huts and thatched roofs once stood, Shops cramp the places that had once been barren.

My Barber's shop is still at the beginning of the street as it was before, but it’s called a parlour now. I always addressed my barber, sir, because my father addressed him that way. I saw sir, he was wielding his scissors just like he used to a long time ago, only he was a lot older with wrinkles filling up his face and his hair almost silver.

There was a cylinder blast at the end of the street in the mid 90s and sixteen people were killed, I remember that incident because that was the first time I ever saw my hometown featured in an English newspaper. May be that was why Commercial tailors was not at the place where I remember it stood. I found the shop a little away and the older man I knew (I do not know his name) was not seen. His son stood cutting a piece of cloth, his hair graying up around his ears.

The state bank of India still stands at the same place in front of my school; it looked old and tired.

My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw my school but 'Immanuel, English, Nursery and Primary school' was almost unrecognizable, sandwiched between two big hardware shops. The paint had worn out and the name wasn't even clear.

I couldn't pull myself to walk in to the school although it was a working afternoon. For a moment I had those days coming back to me, Asirvatham sir my school correspondent and once my Mom's professor, Manjula Madam, Sasi madam, the black boards and the wooden tables, the store room under the stairs that helped me sleep, the big brass bell I was once the in charge of, Christmas celebrations when I was the Inn keeper once (Jesus was born in my Inn!) and one of the three wise men the other time, the temple beside the school, Prathap's moped, Sunny's fancy bags, Satheesh's handwriting, Yuvaraj's jokes, Maha.... A honking black car startled me.

Asirvatham sir had passed away a long time back and Sunny I learnt very recently is also no more.

The old lady at the end of the road still busily sat, making Vadas, with her son. Her son, the small kid I remember now looks a lot older than me. I tried a vada; at least nothing had changed about the taste.

Gupta Medicals was at the same place on the other side of the road and the once dark handsome guy now sat bald, tired and darker. When I went up to the shop, I saw someone very familiar standing in front of the shop. It was Shyam, Sunny's brother; he was only a few years older to me at school and looked almost like Sunny. Just beside him stood a beautiful, pregnant lady clinging on to his shoulders. He didn't seem to remember me, not that I wanted him to and somehow I didn't want to ask him about Sunny either.

I didn’t find the medicine today but when I left the street I thought I heard the old brass bell ring.