Page 148 - Musings 2021

“Jhansi,” said the passer-by, by now sure that the old man was either a drunkard or a lunatic.

“Would you be so kind as to call me a cab?”

“Where to?”

“The nearest Mercedes dealership, and please hand me over a wooden stick, any stick …”

Surely a lunatic, thought the passer-by. Still, he did as the old man said, and went about his
business.

The old man, who had stuffed cash into his literally deep pockets, bought a fine car, a pair of
dark glasses, a polished wooden stick, hired a chauffeur, and set out for the Fort of Jhansi.

Sitting on the back seat, the old man gazed out of the window. Through the sight of his
memories, he could see outside — the maize fields, rows of thick mango trees, the primary
school... All the memories from his childhood seemed to be coming back.

“I would like to have tea”, said Rustom. It was late in the evening, the sun had almost set.

The chauffeur pulled over to the side, next to a tea stall. It was the only tea stall he could see
for miles. He held the door open and Rustom stepped out of the car. Then Rustom said
something to his chauffeur and walked up to the youth at the stall, navigating through the
pothole ridden road just by prodding it with his stick.

“One kulhad of tea, please. No sugar.”

“Yes, sir, surely”, said Rustom, as he looked up, to the man wearing dark glasses and standing
by the support of a walking stick.

Then there was a pause - Rustom took out the marble from his pocket and handed it to the
youth. “Whenever you need inspiration, take a look at the marble.”

Rustom examined the marble — the marble was crystal clear, yet Rustom could only see
himself in the reflection — and that too upside down.

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