Notes of The Owl

For the past several days it has been going on. Indecisive feelings, cutting chai... minutes turned into hours. Then somewhere deep down within, voices tried to burst open the flood gates; onlu to fail. Men dont cry, says the Angel.

I walk through the gates of Sealdah station. Trying to board the train and jump in for a seat. 4 in a crampy 3 seater. Like every common man its an adjustment that you always make, with a smile. Even though you have your bystanders sweat driping over your head, feet and sometimes... better leave that.

Today, something different happened. Something worthy enough to pull me out of the isolated quilt in the world of blogspot and start tapping on the keys. A man. Aged somewhere 45-55, boarded the Sealdah Sonarpur local. 10:55am. The train started. This gentleman was kind enough to make way so that I may seat. #Reason. I had a bad ankle, twisted.

I asked him not to, but he said. You are like my son. How can I see my child stand in pain? It was awkward to see this gesture. I sat down.

The train started and he smiled at me.  He felt that I was feeling uncomfortable to see him stand. He smiled back to soothe my restlessness. Not long, but Ballygunge came. It seemed to be his destination. Before boarding off, he smiled back. Then he said... "আমারও ছেলে থাকলে এরকমই করত। "
I felt different. Before I could ask any question, the train docked. One question still buzz me. Why if (in past tense). Why if?