Beyond the Bus Stop
It was Friday afternoon as I pulled out of Weston hospital. The rain soaked streets were always a haven for secrets to explore and today was no exception.The scent of wet earth and yellow aging leaves of Chinar added a misty smell in the air as if transporting me back to the colors of love and tranquility.
"Rainy days are made for regrets", my heart whispered as it mirrored the turmoil within sending a relentless reminder of the life.
The storm rolled in and the shadows in my mind began to stir as raindrops drummed against the slanting roofs of Weston General Hospital. I pulled off my umbrella and crossed the driveway to peek into corner of the bus stop.
The bus stop's roof creaked in the wind providing scant shelter from the deluge. The street beyond was deserted with occasional car passing by, stroking its headlights through the falling rain. I could hear a grim voice from the other side, " Oh, it is terrible, God save us from his wrath", I turned my head only to see an old man's slumped posture as if the weight of his years had finally crushed him.
The old man sat huddled at the stop with raindrops dancing around him obscuring his features. His eyes red rimmed from age and exhaustion gazed downwards as if lost in the ocean of thoughts, a faint grey beard clung to his chin dampened by the falling rain.
His hands held around a walking stick seemed to hold on to memories rather than the present.
The rain symbolizing the turmoil of life contrasted with the calmness of the old man, the bus stop, a threshold between destinations represented the old man's state caught between past and present, life and death!
As the wind blew harder, it pushed the old man's stick on to the ground, the rain started puddling around the stick. I bowed and tried to catch hold the stick but the storm pushed me to the opposite direction. I somehow managed to give it back to him as his face etched with wrinkles creased into a warm smile reflecting contentment as if the trails of life had distilled into a warm appreciation.
"My wife has got cancer, stage IV ....the doctors say... it's not good......", he mumbled as his demeanor vanished into the grey sky, the shoulders slumped and his eyes welled up with tears.
"I am really sorry to hear that", I said with heavy mournful heart as I bowed down to console him."
"We have been married for 40 years, 40 years of love...laughter.. and tears and now I am losing her", he said as he choked a sob. His voice cracked and he struggled to continue. I pulled off a tissue and offered him.
"Life is a circle of uncertainties", I said as I tried to explore and share the grief of the old man.
At the twilight of his life, I found resilience in his character and eyes reflected a deep understanding of the immense complexities of life.
The old man's eyes glazed over, lost in thoughts, a smile returned to his lips as he plunged into the memories of his wife.
The old man's reverie was interrupted by the rumble of the bus's engine. Headlights cast a warm glow on the wet pavement, the doors swung open with a hiss inviting passengers to board. With a sigh, he climbed the steps, a walking stick clutched tightly, he found a seat near the back. His thoughts possibly returned to his wife as cancer loomed over their lives threatening to extinguish the light of their love and life.
"Sarra, I will be your rock, your shelter, I will care for you", he said as his eyes lit up with firm resolve to care for his wife even at this age.
The bus pulled up to his stop as he disembarked, stick clutched tightly, the rain soaked pavement and the grey sky mirrored his mood.
He walked away as the rain drops danced on the pavement and my eyes cast downwards lost in thoughts!
Dr Qaiser Manzoor Bhat is a Resident Doctor at GMC Handwara, Kashmir
