Sunday 15 August 2021
Elvin Lukose, Poetry 2021 Shortlist
THE BALLOON MAN
There was once a balloon man
who stood by the school gate
along with the cobbler and the icicle vendor
under the gulmohar tree
with his belly of helium
-the balloons perched on the stand
red orange green blue yellow.
a little man-made fountain of colors
a man-made rainbow for show
He stood there everyday
every season
even in the rain
and the scalding summer.
It was interesting to watch
how colors were exchanged
from his wrinkled hands
to the bony ones of the young.
colors converting to smiles
a little circuit of serotonin sparks
-a metamorphosis of a kind
No one knew about him
or his family
or his children
how much he earned
why he did what he did
The legend goes that
once a rich man even handed him
a wad of cash to buffer his miseries
out of appreciation
Enraged he tried to hit the man
with his crooked crutch
and no one dared again
to bribe him off his love for colors
Years went by
-monsoons came and receded
-winters left its misty afterglow
He stood there
everyday
handing balloons
for a dime or two
sometimes for nothing at all
One day he stopped coming
the children waited
the parents waited
days rolled by
months moved on
even the branches of the gulmohar
began to stoop
over the ghostly space that remained
under its leafy roof
There were
no more colors
no more signs of the old chap
and the helium tank
the other vendors also left that street
one by one
like coins disappearing into the slot machine
Life went on
his colored balloons remained a memory
its disappearance - a mystery
-the human presence
that made so much difference
even in its absence
Its strange
how a display of colors
-a bunch of balloons
could change the landscape
to the point
that everyone who walks that street today
no longer smiles
or says a word of gratitude
everyone rushing in and out of each other
not taking a moment to notice
that the gulmohar stopped bleeding red
that the children no longer stopped
for a minute of laughter and happiness
that once a few floating colors in their hands bought
A cloud still hovers over that space
everyday
every month
even after the monsoons have resigned
like a stage set all ready
in anticipation
for those blobs of color
for that little rainbow to show up
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