The Missing Piece of a Singular Life
Many years had passed since I last saw him. He used to sit under the bridge during the hot summer days; the quintessential jhaal-muri-wala. I used to watch him every day from the window of my school bus. The journey from my house to my school was a long one, made even longer by the traffic of Dhaka. I used to anticipate these little checkpoints on the road just to make my journeys a little less tedious. The colourful billboard, the bypass road divided from the main street by a single piece of bamboo, the bustling fish market, the small iron gate of an old house and the ever present jhaal-muri-wala. Those were my milestones.
He was an old man with a long white beard. His skin was tanned and shiny. I don't know what colour his hair was. As a matter of fact, I don't know if he even had any hair. He used to tie a red piece of cloth on his head which hid his hair completely. He always wore a white shirt and a red lungi. I never saw him clad in anything else. That used to fascinate me. Back then I was not aware of the fact that a large number of people could only afford a single lungi and a shirt. I often entertained myself thinking of the old man's closet. I used to imagine it filled with fifty white shirts and fifty red lungis. Like the cartoons, his clothes never changed.
I watched the old man for three years. Then my family moved to a new residential area. I transferred to a new school. I lost my green bicycle. I had my first big fight. My first crush. My first facial hair. My first girlfriend. My first break up. I went to college. Graduated. Got a job. Got married. Many years passed. Twenty-two to be exact. Never again did I see the old jhaal-muri-wala.
Not like that makes a difference. I mean, who cares anyway? What difference does it make? Why would the world notice the absence of a poor old jhal-muri-wala who once had a closet full of fifty white shirts and fifty red lungis?
His family would notice. And once, an 8 year old boy would have too. The boy, whose existence was unknown to the jhaal-muri-wala. Isn't that enough?
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