I am an overtly shy person,
On the contrary,
when it comes to stories,
I am unapologetically curious.
I travel in search of stories.
It was my 5th journey
in the last six months.
That night, when I was walking
on the streets of Manali, after
a long tiring day of hopping
temples and a pleasant sunset,
I saw an old man waving a hand.
So I went to him.
He was trying to call
an international number
from an ISD booth.
"Aaj mere beta ka janamdin hai,
kya tum meri madad kar sakti ho,
uska number lagane main?"
("Today is my son's birthday,
can you help me dial up the number?")
He'd called him several times
but couldn't reach out to him.
He thought he might be
clicking the numbers wrong.
I helped him dial the number,
but yet again, it was in vain.
He'd told me that it was the
first time in 23 years that
he couldn't wish his son at midnight.
and that his son gifted him a mobile phone
but it broke yesterday.
"Pehle kahi dafa usse baat hoti thi,
din main ek baar phir dheere dheere
hafte main aur ab mahine main ek baar.
Mera uski awaaz sunne ka kaafi mann karta hai."
("He used to call once a day,
then a week, and now it is changed
to months. I miss his voice, you know.")
He'd told me how every year on his birthday,
he used to make rasgullas for his son.
and light the candles all over the place
and watch the sunset
with 90s music playing on the radio.
This year, it's going to be
just him so he invited me over.
I accepted it and walked him
to his place.
Coming back, I saw the time,
it was 1:30 am and my eyes
stumbled upon the date in a smaller font
below. It was the 16th of April.
Before I closed my eyes that night,
I looked at the stars and wished
Happy Birthday, Paa.
In the last 5 years in search of stories,
here and there and never looking
back to what I left and who left me.
It was this particular
moment of forgiveness.
I felt the warmth of home,
in that stranger's story.
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