Mr. Amarjeet Singh
Today morning I saw Mr. Amarjeet Singh standing by a truck half loaded (or unloaded, depending on which side of the clichéd table are you) with household stuff. No, he is not a new entrant to this society, I still remember the heated exchange of words some ten months back that followed his protests to the noise coming from my house – we were just having an all singles drink and curse party at home.
He sounded reasonable then, a typical family man, who has the courage to confront a group of four drunk guys at midnight but doesn't want to create too much of a consternation. He could easily have replaced the courageous but pragmatic heroine’s father in a Bollywood potboiler – he knows what’s wrong and he protests too – but makes sure he doesn’t ruffle too many feathers.
Actually Mr. Amarjeet Singh is a fictitious name; I don’t know his real name. I used this one just because was too embarrassed at the beginning to admit that I didn’t know the name of my immediate neighbor even after one year of living next door. Alice, any one?
Let’s persist with the fictional name. It doesn’t matter anyway. More so for I am sure even he doesn’t know my name. We are square.
I saw him supervising the loading truck in the morning while I was dressed in my last nights vest, lazily going through the ritual of brushing my teeth in the balcony. Good habits, they pain at times.
Two hours later, I got down the staircase, with my laptop hanging from my shoulder. At times I feel hanging is the best option. You exercise no choice, you make no decisions, and you go through no pain. Or is just hanging a big pain in itself. Laptop doesn’t speak, so he can never confide.
Just as the flight of stairs ended, I was face to face with a beaming Mr. Amarjeet Singh. His eyes caught mine – we shared that slightly uncomfortable moment of no-action. As if deciding whether to smile, whether to say hello. Ahh, now that’s a pain of exercising choices, at times saying hello becomes a big decision problem.
But I did the hanging job this time. Mr. Amarjeet Singh decided. He greeted me with a "Hi", much more enthusiastic than what I had expected. The decision was taken. I too shook hands.
“You are leaving”, I said.
“Yes, moving to Chandigarh”.
“Took up a new job there ??”, I continued; he nodded.
“Where did you work”.
“Cadbury’s”
“And where have you shifted ?”, to which he mentioned a company which I forgot as soon as I heard of.
I shook hands “Good luck”. His warmth was unfailing. The gleaming eyes and the beaming smile. I proceeded to my car.
All the way to the office, I was thinking of Mr. Amarjeet Singh. He was a warm man, would have been a nice man to know. And I missed out. He is leaving today, would have been a great friend. Its now that I remember his expectant eyes when our eyes had met more than a couple of times on the same staircase, or in the same locality and I had chosen to look through. That was his warmth and I too consider myself to be no less warm. But I was cold.
It’s easy to blame the work stress, the mad scramble, the unfavourable celestial oritentation, tsunami or earthquake or the hills and rivers – but something in me is dying.
Sure, I am decaying. Antiseptic, anyone?
He sounded reasonable then, a typical family man, who has the courage to confront a group of four drunk guys at midnight but doesn't want to create too much of a consternation. He could easily have replaced the courageous but pragmatic heroine’s father in a Bollywood potboiler – he knows what’s wrong and he protests too – but makes sure he doesn’t ruffle too many feathers.
Actually Mr. Amarjeet Singh is a fictitious name; I don’t know his real name. I used this one just because was too embarrassed at the beginning to admit that I didn’t know the name of my immediate neighbor even after one year of living next door. Alice, any one?
Let’s persist with the fictional name. It doesn’t matter anyway. More so for I am sure even he doesn’t know my name. We are square.
I saw him supervising the loading truck in the morning while I was dressed in my last nights vest, lazily going through the ritual of brushing my teeth in the balcony. Good habits, they pain at times.
Two hours later, I got down the staircase, with my laptop hanging from my shoulder. At times I feel hanging is the best option. You exercise no choice, you make no decisions, and you go through no pain. Or is just hanging a big pain in itself. Laptop doesn’t speak, so he can never confide.
Just as the flight of stairs ended, I was face to face with a beaming Mr. Amarjeet Singh. His eyes caught mine – we shared that slightly uncomfortable moment of no-action. As if deciding whether to smile, whether to say hello. Ahh, now that’s a pain of exercising choices, at times saying hello becomes a big decision problem.
But I did the hanging job this time. Mr. Amarjeet Singh decided. He greeted me with a "Hi", much more enthusiastic than what I had expected. The decision was taken. I too shook hands.
“You are leaving”, I said.
“Yes, moving to Chandigarh”.
“Took up a new job there ??”, I continued; he nodded.
“Where did you work”.
“Cadbury’s”
“And where have you shifted ?”, to which he mentioned a company which I forgot as soon as I heard of.
I shook hands “Good luck”. His warmth was unfailing. The gleaming eyes and the beaming smile. I proceeded to my car.
All the way to the office, I was thinking of Mr. Amarjeet Singh. He was a warm man, would have been a nice man to know. And I missed out. He is leaving today, would have been a great friend. Its now that I remember his expectant eyes when our eyes had met more than a couple of times on the same staircase, or in the same locality and I had chosen to look through. That was his warmth and I too consider myself to be no less warm. But I was cold.
It’s easy to blame the work stress, the mad scramble, the unfavourable celestial oritentation, tsunami or earthquake or the hills and rivers – but something in me is dying.
Sure, I am decaying. Antiseptic, anyone?
posted by Prashant @ 11:05 AM
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