Autumnal drive

Even as dusk falls; sharp yellow, mustard, magenta and pink spots demarcate the green of lawn from flower beds. Colours carry their distinct caste and character- they do not wish to part with.

It was around 9 in wintry morning when sun is still stretching itself, letting its glory be eclipsed by laziness. I was driving to work. Colours were not allowed to gleam in glory as the light was still pale. A whole stretch of sidewalk was covered under dry leaves of varied hues. Dull and non descript.

Such stretches as do not attract attention.

Had it not been for a strange movement I observed in the leaves, I wouldn’t have looked. We pass many things on road, without ever caring to register their presence.

As I looked, I was shocked.

A man was rustling from among the dead leaves as a leaf. He was so sub merged in this milieu, it was hard to believe. How could a human being be so non- obtrusive, so non- intrusive amongst discarded leaves, to the extent of blurring demarcations between dew- soaked- moist foliage and human form? To be just like one of them; in colour and character!

I do not know if the man could stand up from his fallen as leaf posture to be distinct as a human being.

I drove on.

Then, I stopped. Was it curiosity alone! Something stirred me, like the rustling of dead leaves. There was a movement within; of thoughts, feelings…empathy! Such stirrings that visit unannounced, without reception committees and elaborate preparations. Surprisingly, these stirrings are the most fulfilling of our experiences. Reconnecting us to a part lost to our being.

They somehow pull us back to what we are meant to be. By brushing away a lot that is dead within.

I reversed my car and honked.

Once again, the civilized inhibition took the best of me. I remained seated, watching the man through rolled up windows. Camouflaging my whipped up interest in him with passive urban disinterest. I was watching him through the rear view mirror.

The man sat there, blinking, soaking in whatever warmth the sun had to offer. His trembling hands readjusted remnants of clothing on his body. From the folds of his tattered coat, that looked almost as used and abused as his body, he rolled out a carefully preserved piece of beedi. From other fold emerged a much used pack of match sticks.

The last glimpse before I drove on … he was still trying to light a match, with leafy, shaking hands.

Did I witness a shade of smile on his face for the mischievous stubbornness of matchsticks!

Pix- courtesy photosearch.com