Short Story: An old umbrella
He walked straight into the 'Warista' and stood for a minute to feel the comfort of AC. It was burning outside that café. The heat from the sun was plunging onto the earth's surface with its full intensity. The moisture from the air was long gone, and the wind was carrying only dust and pollution. While the heat was bashing on the glass doors of the café, it was soothing and calm inside it. The AC was sweating out to ensure no one sweated inside the cafe.
He was 60+, and his skin had countless wrinkles. He was wearing a white shirt that no longer did resemble its true shine. It had become pale brownish, thanks to the expensive vehicles running wildly on the roads. His pants were parallel and black in color. His shoes were perhaps the style symbol of the 80s, but they were now obsolete. The shoes' color was unidentified, and the exterior was scratched to anonymity by the time. He was carrying an umbrella covered with a plastic wrapper. It was big and standard, which the young community had already boycotted way back.?
He stood there in silence with his eyes closed for almost a minute and then sat down. The attendants and servers of the café looked at him fiercely; as if they understood that he was there only to take some cold air. They could not tolerate that one of their exquisite tables was occupied by an incumbent un-buyer. What if most of the tables were unoccupied and there were not even a handful of customers? This old man was harming their reputation with his obnoxious outfit and unwelcome personality. The manager signaled one of his subordinates to address the unlikely emergency.
'What would you like to have, sir?' The attendant asked the old man with a big but fake smile.
The old man got nervous and looked at the smiling face of the attendant. His expressionless face indicated that he had no idea what to say. The attendant's smile grew bigger, almost crossing the limitations of his cheek.
"If you want to sit here, you will need to order something…if you are not sure, I can give you our menu card…you can choose something from it."
The suggestion was reasonable. The old man shook his head in agreement, and within a second, the old man was staring at the menu card.
'159.00, 169.00, 189.00…399.00', the old man browsed through the menu with astonishment. He could feel Goosebumps on his body because of the prices that were probably equal to his week's expenses. He at once stood up and headed towards the gate. He thought the attendant would make him purchase something if he stayed longer. He had only a 100 rupee note in his pocket, which was his fare for the bus. With his umbrella held tightly in one hand, he quickly touched his upper pocket to ensure the money was still there. A burst of everyone's sarcastic laugh escorted him to the door and pushed him out.
He felt scared of looking back. He quickly moved towards a building with significant strides. The wind crashed with his face burning even the tiniest amount of moisture hiding in the pores of his skin, leaving his face scorched.????
After walking almost a kilometer, he entered a big air-conditioned building. It was swarming with people.
He looked here and there in fear and confusion.
"What do you want, old man?"
The guard rushed towards the old man.
"I am here to see my son. It is his birthday."
"What is the name of your son?" The guard started him viciously.
"Rudra Kumar Sharma"
The old man handed over a visiting card to the guard.
"You are his father?"
"Yes"
The guard looked astonished. He signaled the old man to sit on the sofa near the reception area. He went to the other guard, who had the authority to dial numbers. The other guard, too, looked with deep cynicism. He twitched his shoulders and dialed a number.
Rudra Kumar Sharma, or RD, was the Marketing General Manager of the company. A dynamic leader, MBA in marketing, and six-sigma certified. He was one of the most admired employees working there.?
The old man waited meekly with his face down, still holding the umbrella tightly. The centralized AC was giving him some relief. He wiped his face with the handkerchief; perhaps he wanted to look dust free and confident when his son approached.
"Sir, he is in a meeting." The guard broke the silence.
"How much time would it take?"
"Nobody knows, sir…could be hours? Why don't you come tomorrow?"
"I want to meet him today… it's his birthday…I will wait."
The guard opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. He turned towards his designated place and tried to keep his eyes off that old man.
The old man's eyes were glued to a painting. It had bright colors, lively and blissful. He could not understand what was painted but could see shards and boxes of different dimensions. Its outline was district and vibrant. Maybe it was a 3d painting. He had heard about such pictures becoming a trend. He soon was lost in the memories of the past.
?
A man walked anxiously outside his house. He was sweating, and his heartbeat was out of control. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. His breath was fast and deep. He was holding a cloth piece in his hand which was being used to wipe out the constantly flowing sweat. His body was slumping forward, and steps were toddling. He clutched the washbasin made in the gallery for support; he could no longer endure the pain of waiting. His wife was going through the labor of delivering a baby, but the trail of pain was visible on his face.
"Sir…"
The guard saved the old man from reliving those painful moments. The old man almost got shaken by the guard's sudden voice.
"Sir, you have been waiting for hours now. Maybe sir is very busy in meetings. Please come tomorrow."
"Thirty-two years ago, same day, I waited 5 hours at his birth time…there was no one to help. Have you informed him that his father is here?" The old man smiled.
"Yes…in fact, I have informed the receptionist there. I am sure she would have delivered the message."
"Can't you dial his mobile directly?"
"No sir…I cannot…"
"Then I guess I have no option but to wait."
The guard had nothing to say. After rearranging his cap, he scratched his head and returned to his position.??
The old man again was back to his past.
"It is a lifetime opportunity, and you are saying no. Are you in your senses?"
"Yes, sir." Ramesh, a young man, was almost shaken but still not moved.
?"You know that the chances you may get after this conference are limitless…right?"
"Yes"
"And you want to go home just because it is your son's birthday, and you don't want to be late today?"
"Yes"
The manager shook his head distrustfully and waved his hand towards the door. He looked at the manager with an expressionless face and moved out of the door. He knew he was saying 'No' to the manager, which could prove very costly later. His manager was a wicked man. He either would put pressure on him at work or could even fire him as well. But he had not missed a single birthday of his son in years, and he wanted to continue this trend.
?
The old had been waiting for almost the whole day. He was struggling to hide his anxiety and uneasiness. Now the centralized Ac was no longer soothing; it was instead chilling. The cold air he inhaled had started to freeze his emotions and fatherly love. His blood pumped up and down. He tried to concentrate on different things, but his patience had betrayed him already. His brain was echoing the whispers of people passing by. He looked at the guard. He had a pitiful look.
The old man stood up and walked towards the gate with a heavy heart. He limped across the gallery. His confidence was crushed, and trust was shattered on the marble floor of that luxurious building. He kept on crawling until he reached outside. Slowly like a melting ice cube, he disappeared in the fainting light of the sun.
The guard suddenly found that the old man was gone. He walked near the sofa, and the umbrella was still there. He picked it up. It was carefully wrapped in plastic, and a small note was inside it.
"Did he leave it?" The second guard asked.
"Yes"
"Poor he"
"His son must be one of the biggest scoundrels to disrespect such a loving father."
"Don't say that."
"Why?"
"You don't know, but there is a sad story." One guard said to the other.
"What?"
"His son had died a couple of years ago in an accident…right in front of this gate."
"Oh"
"He came here last year as well…poor father…."
The guard said nothing but opened the note with tears in his eyes.
'Happy Birthday….Son…I am gifting you my favorite umbrella, which you have always liked.
-From your loving father.'
The heat outside was reduced, and there was no wind anymore. Everything looked still and calm. People were still swarming, but there was a dreaded silence…a post-death silence.