The Ritual

Oh well, so after a gap of almost two months, here I am writing or trying something like that, again.  Lots happened in these two months.  My life changed from one phase to another, transition after transition happened at such a pace, in such quick succession that it seems Somebody up there has great editing skills!  Anyway, that is not my story today.  My problem with writing is that I need a strong (and damn strong !!) reason or motivation to write.  I can write otherwise of course, but it won’t have a soul.  And then, what is the point of such writing? Hence I take my own time to feel and then write.  Today something struck me and got etched somewhere forever. 

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It is said that at some point of time in life, when you close your eyes and see all those that have passed in your life, some faces come up.  They may be known, they may be unknown. I know this one face that will always haunt me for a long time to come...

I saw it first on one of the sweltering May afternoons, sometime around last year when I had come back home from a movie.  The palatial looking house beside ours had been demolished and a new society set up.  A family seemed to have moved in newly into one of these houses which could be seen from our bedroom window.  That day, when I was parking my vehicle, I saw him.

Clad in a linen kurta and soft cotton light blue coloured pajamas, he was as such quite ordinary looking. Except for those eyes.  For those who read eyes, his are Shakespeare or Tagore to them!  They were glassy, classic and large with a myriad of expressions playing in them. 

That day when I reached home, I was told that the house has been newly occupied.  The Devs moved in today only, I was told.  There were Papa Dev, Mummy Dev, Son Dev and their daughter-in-law.  “So who is that old guy there at the gate?” I asked.  He was Papa Dev’s elder brother.  “Is slightly ‘out’ in the head!” my sister added.

That day onwards, whenever I go out, I see him.  Rather he kind of stares at me, with those big eyes.  At first I took it all in the complete wrong sense. ‘Saala budhha, kaise dekh raha hai?!’ once I told my sister angrily.  Then one day, I observed him through my bedroom window. He stared at almost everything around him.  Those eyes were constant on a flower for more than a minute, before shifting onto a mooing cow nearby! And he was always near the gate of the house. 

Somehow, observing him then became a ritual for me.  I figured out his routine, which wasn’t hard.  He was made to sit near the gate, every morning at ten and given tea.  He would be there till he was given lunch.  He continued to sit there till evening when he was given tea.  At around eight, he would be given some dinner and by nine, he would be taken in to sleep. All this time, the main door of the house was kept closed. It was quite peculiar.

One morning the entire society woke up to his loud cries.  We all rushed out to find that he was shut out of the house and the family has gone somewhere.  The man was howling at the top of his voice.  No one could do anything.  He tired himself out by noon and at around four, the family came back.  Later we came to know that some relative of theirs had passed away and they had to go suddenly at night.  As they could not leave the man locked inside the house, they had left him out, “…and the gate was definitely locked, so where could he have gone anyway?” as the daughter-in-law of the house put it!!

Today morning I observed Papa Dev making him sit on a chair near a gate and a barber trying to give a shave and a hair-cut to the old man.  He was sitting quietly, but there was an innate restlessness in him.  When the barber removed his covering cloth, I saw that his hands were tied with a thick rope.

Later in the afternoon, another big vehicle came.  Many men came out of it, all dressed in white.  As we all started looking out, we saw the old man being carried out by his arms by these men dressed in white.  He walked calmly, almost resignedly.  I ran up to my window to see what was happening.  Just as I reached my window, he had reached near the vehicle.  Papa Dev and the rest of the family were at the gate, quite  nonchalantly.  As I turned my eyes from them to the old man, he suddenly looked up and met my eyes.  He held on to the look for about a minute or so and then the vehicle went off. 

“He is taken to the mental hospital.  Good for him.  The way the family had taken care of him, the hospital would any day be better for him.  Devbhai was saying that he was getting quite difficult to handle.  They have so much business, so much to do, where will they have the time? And what is the point of having so much wealth, if your mind is not in place?”  I heard my father say. 

I came back to my window.  Now there would be no glassy eyes to observe by the gate.  The gate that seemed to look forlorn at the loss of its companion. My ritual had come to an end, abruptly and something wasn't feeling right inside me. I knew I won’t be able to get over that old man’s face, the last minute look in his eyes and my ritual…