DECAY

In a sudden whim, the clouds parted one morning to welcome a cold but brilliant sun. People threw their windows open to let the light in. All the residents of the housing society were stirring at once. If one stood on the football field, it would seem an indolent giant was rising from its winter sleep.

There is no saying who first noticed the solitary figure standing in the middle of the field. He wore shiny black trousers, his thick pullover was as red as a fire engine. A wide-brimmed ochre-coloured hat shielded his face from view. Had he merely stood his ground, it was doubtful whether the men would have battled their inertia and stepped out of their homes. But he started jogging around the edge, as if to warm himself up for something more. It was an unsure and wobbly run. It began to look as if he might fall.

"What is the latest happening with our Ambika-ji?" Sunil Dasgupta, the agricultural officer, asked the group huddled at the northern corner of the field.

"He's been acting up. A lot," Soumen Bhadra, Ambika Prasad's neighbour said. Soumen looked distracted and scratched his chin. 

"What are those pants made of? Gabardine?" Rafique Chowdhury, the veterinarian, piped in. 

"Probably," said Proloy Kundu. "Or something that reflects light."

Everyone laughed. The runner had started throwing his arms out and punching the air. He was tuning his muscles. 

"Always too proud to ask for help," Soumen said.

"It's cancer bhai," Sunil Dasgupta said, with a hint of exasperation. "It finally got to his head."

Ambika Prasad had stopped to catch his breath. He steadied his extended arms. In that golden January morning, he started running again, this time flapping his arms as if about to take flight.

(EOM) 

Nov 16, 2016