Clad in a red shirt and with a black cap he stood still among the buzz.
He looked at me and asked, “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Say what?” I replied.
“Well, anything, anything you want. The things you want to say, the things you don’t want to say. It could be anything! Say it to me and I will write for you.”
I smiled.
“Why are you smiling?”
“It’s just that I don’t have to say anything to anyone.”
“Don’t dare to speak those words. Nobody knows better than me boy. It takes a lot to speak and when people speak they forget to stop.”
“If you know so much, why don’t you say? Let me hear your story.”
“I used to write a lot in those days, people used to jump at me to say their stories and stories were never-ending. Each one of them had a story of their own and I used to write all of them, one after another. Lovebirds would never end in time, they carried on saying. They had lots to say, sometimes they argued and sometimes they quarreled like enemies but most of the time they just loved to say. Much to my wonder I tried to find their impetus but couldn’t find it. Impatient people on the other hand would rather shout at them for taking so much time, but they hardly listened (smiles) it’s just that time has stopped ticking for them. Then there was an old man who would come to me and say ‘when are you coming down son, we are very lonely here.’ His frail look and his stick could only depict his loneliness. I failed to write his agony, my words failed. He is same as before and he still repeats those words to me. I have seen tears, tears of both joy and sadness. Some would say he is a proud father while some would mourn at loved ones death. The two extremes of emotions can be well described when it is spoken of; I found it very difficult to translate it into words. So I say to you son, speak, it’s the only gift that separates us from the animals. Don’t shut your mouth when you are not a dumb. (pause) Time passed by and faces changed but stories grew like the day. Friends would fix get-togethers and I would fix the dates for them. You could feel the urge in their words. Job seekers kept on saying about jobs and each time they came they had a new job to apply. Strange, isn’t it? jobs are like stars, countless! Mother annoyed me the most. Her child lived far away from her and she would come daily and ask about her. She had the same questions ‘have you taken your medicine, your food, are you alright, how is your work’. But I still obliged her, because she is the mother. Ah those were the days! There are many such stories to tell you. All of them resemble the colors of emotions, the satisfaction in speaking their minds.”
(pause)
“Why is it that you keep on saying ‘those were the days’? Don’t you write now?”
“People have changed and so as the times, all are changing. Nowadays everybody is engrossed with their duties, time has taken control over their minds and they have no time left for themselves. Yes, I write, but not like days before, it’s because people like you have grown in numbers and people like you keep everything beneath their skin, they never speak.”
P.S. - As a person I believe that post-box eats our letter. As if I extend my hand with the letter in front of its mouth and it swallows it into the belly. The protagonist in the above article is a post-box.
He looked at me and asked, “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Say what?” I replied.
“Well, anything, anything you want. The things you want to say, the things you don’t want to say. It could be anything! Say it to me and I will write for you.”
I smiled.
“Why are you smiling?”
“It’s just that I don’t have to say anything to anyone.”
“Don’t dare to speak those words. Nobody knows better than me boy. It takes a lot to speak and when people speak they forget to stop.”
“If you know so much, why don’t you say? Let me hear your story.”
“I used to write a lot in those days, people used to jump at me to say their stories and stories were never-ending. Each one of them had a story of their own and I used to write all of them, one after another. Lovebirds would never end in time, they carried on saying. They had lots to say, sometimes they argued and sometimes they quarreled like enemies but most of the time they just loved to say. Much to my wonder I tried to find their impetus but couldn’t find it. Impatient people on the other hand would rather shout at them for taking so much time, but they hardly listened (smiles) it’s just that time has stopped ticking for them. Then there was an old man who would come to me and say ‘when are you coming down son, we are very lonely here.’ His frail look and his stick could only depict his loneliness. I failed to write his agony, my words failed. He is same as before and he still repeats those words to me. I have seen tears, tears of both joy and sadness. Some would say he is a proud father while some would mourn at loved ones death. The two extremes of emotions can be well described when it is spoken of; I found it very difficult to translate it into words. So I say to you son, speak, it’s the only gift that separates us from the animals. Don’t shut your mouth when you are not a dumb. (pause) Time passed by and faces changed but stories grew like the day. Friends would fix get-togethers and I would fix the dates for them. You could feel the urge in their words. Job seekers kept on saying about jobs and each time they came they had a new job to apply. Strange, isn’t it? jobs are like stars, countless! Mother annoyed me the most. Her child lived far away from her and she would come daily and ask about her. She had the same questions ‘have you taken your medicine, your food, are you alright, how is your work’. But I still obliged her, because she is the mother. Ah those were the days! There are many such stories to tell you. All of them resemble the colors of emotions, the satisfaction in speaking their minds.”
(pause)
“Why is it that you keep on saying ‘those were the days’? Don’t you write now?”
“People have changed and so as the times, all are changing. Nowadays everybody is engrossed with their duties, time has taken control over their minds and they have no time left for themselves. Yes, I write, but not like days before, it’s because people like you have grown in numbers and people like you keep everything beneath their skin, they never speak.”
P.S. - As a person I believe that post-box eats our letter. As if I extend my hand with the letter in front of its mouth and it swallows it into the belly. The protagonist in the above article is a post-box.
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