Presence

By Kanan Rana

An old man in his eighties carried a bunch of bouquets 

Across the street; where trees stood high with intermittent patches of pale-yellow shrubs. His same old leather jacket and worn-out shoes could be seen daily, as he spent his day Selling tulips and lilies that earned him some decent bucks. 

One could catch the sight of the streaks of endurance lining his face, 

And his hair as grey as ashes. 

When he was resting on a bench in the park, 

A little girl came scuttling by and sat near him, she smiled with all her heart and the man gently smiled back. 

She put her hand in one of her pockets and took out a chocolate muffin that she gave to the man to eat. 

He smiled at her innocence and took it. 

The girl with much guilelessness sat beside him and he told her a story. They laughed. The man had never felt so full of life in a long time. He had never felt the need to smile in a long time. 

And when the girl was leaving, he stopped her, stretched his hands to the jute basket that he carried and pulled out a bunch of lilies. 

Since then, she comes to the park every day 

And he tells her a story every day. They sit together and watch the sun set. The girl cracks a joke and he laughs incessantly till his jaw hurts. The laugh lines on his face crimping when he gives the most beautiful smile, makes him seem alive. isn’t it magnificent? That the little things that make us happy aren’t even that weighty. We find joy in the simplest things. And that’s when we choose to live. We choose to live because of the comfort we have in knowing happiness and content. Because of the memories that we reminisce over a hot cup of tea. Because we want to feel that way again. We want the laugh lines and the hugs. We want the happy tears and the warmth. 

He gives her a lily every day, that she tucks in her pocket and runs around like anything. For him, she became the happiest part of his day. The way she would fill his eyes with love and make him smile his heart out. The way she’d carry a scintillating charm that would coruscate right through his heart. 

She became his best friend. A little girl.

For her, he became the enthralling man who told her enchanting stories. Who took the place of a grandfather that the girl never had. Whom she had unknowingly given a piece of her heart. A piece of her happiness. 

Presence; an eight letter word that happens to be more meaningful than it sounds. The way it makes you feel tranquility in its purest forms. The way it can take away a person’s suffering and make them feel impregnable. Humans tend to love. And we tend to love people who make us happy. Love; The most natural thing to have happened to the whole of humanity. 

One day, the girl and the man planted a sapling together. They nurtured it with all their love, because they knew comfort in it. They would come and sit near it on the same bench everyday. The sapling grew and thrived. The roots swelled deeper and deeper, clasping the soil unyieldingly. Their love grew stronger and their hearts grew fonder. An old man in his eighties, and a little girl who once felt lonely, now had each other; Presence. 

Soon it grew flowers. Lavender hues stippled over the long creaky branches. And over time, it made a tree. 

She would come and sit under its shade which almost fell like the man; her grandfather’s arms. 

I’m her. I’m the little girl. And I’m twenty six today, standing across the street, looking at the tree, the most beautiful tree, waiting for it to be pruned, chopped into a couple of pieces by the authorities so a dozen lifeless and hollow buildings can perch above the ground. 

The place that once felt like home to me will now be lost amidst a bunch of multi-storey buildings. But I’ll feel his presence in my heart. I’ll feel it when I’ll watch the lucid rays of sun disappear behind the clouds every evening, as my melancholy will dissipate along with it. I’m holding a young branch of the tree in my hands, that i’ll sow in my garden. Although it’ll never feel the same again, but to say the least, I’ll feel his presence alongside my shadow.

By Kanan Rana