Dance of Life
He sat there, basking in the afternoon Sun, with his back to the brick wall. Bowed down, his bald head reflected the sunshine. He looked up when I moved in closer to touch his feet.
Pranaam Nana, I greeted him. He did not reply. I looked for a sign of recognition in his eyes. I did not find any.
It’s Vishal, I said, trying harder. He nodded this time.
How are you, the question popped out of my lips. What a wasted question it was? His lips wavered, attempting to reply.
Just counting the days, he shifted in his seat then pointed up. Waiting for the final call.
I smiled awkwardly while he rummaged in his pocket. Out came a small diary. He ruffled through its pages before stopping at one. He showed it to me; a number hastily scribbled alongside a name. Next, he handed me his feature phone. Obviously, he wanted me to dial a number. I did. It was a short call. He barely said anything.
Isn't it Wednesday, he asked me after the call ended.
No, Nana. I shook my head. It's Sunday.
Ooh. He looked confused.
I sat with him for some time while guests came and went. I hardly knew anyone. But they seemed to know me. Some commented on how closely I resembled my mother and others how I did not.
At some point of time, I got a call from work. I walked a little away to take it. Few minutes into the call, I noticed him trying to stand up. Disconnecting the call, I rushed to him.
Do you want to go downstairs, I asked. He nodded. I grasped his waist then took his left arm and placed it on my shoulder. Slowly and steadily, we made our way down the stairs.
His room was dark. And a smell lingered of what could be stale pee. I turned the lights on. In the dim glow of an incandescent lamp, I could make out a bed in one corner with a mosquito net hanging over it. I walked him to the bed. There, he sat comfortably.
You're Vishal, right? He was smiling now. I was quite surprised. I nodded in affirmation.
You're his son, right? He uttered my father's name. I nodded again.
We talked a little. And then some. After that, he crawled inside the canopy of the mosquito net.
Enjoy the wedding, he said.
Stepping out of the room, I heard the sound of drums and saw my niece running up to me.
Mama, let's dance. The dhol-baaja has arrived.
I stepped outside the house to a throng of people. My niece dragged me to the centre and urged me to dance.
I did not know how to dance.
Still, I danced.
Because I could.
While I could.
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