The Half Burnt Letter
It was a windy day. The half open window slash was trembling due to impact by short bursts of whistling winds. There sat an old man in the corner of a poorly lit room. He was scribbling something on a paper, mumbling some words and then crumpling the paper and throwing away.
The table was otherwise untidy. There was a half filled ink bottle at one corner. Splashes of blue ink stained the rugged chequered tablecloth unevenly. Reflection of rainbow coloured light from a glass paperweight was luminating the face of the old man.
There was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
"Its me Sarah, your nurse, its time for your medicines"
"I don't want it" he grunted in dismay and went back to scribbling letters.
"What is it that bothers you?" asked Sarah.
For a moment he raised his head looked towards her, his face was reminiscent of a barren land. The eyebrows were thick with patchy spots of grey hair. There was a scar at the left eyebrow which had caused focal hair loss. His eyes spoke of earnest regret. He groaned a bit and then went back to scribbling.
Sarah stood there for a while seeing him struggle with whatever that he was trying to do then sat down besides him. “I have noticed everyone in this hostel opens up after some time, its been two years I haven’t seen you talk much, no one ever visits you, and you are always busy as if you’re upto something, I wanna know what’s the deal with you old man?” asked Sarah visibly irritated but yet trying hard to remain polite.
“What is it that bothers me? Its you!!” angrily he shouted, before she could say anything he threw the paper away and lit a cigarette. “You are not allowed to..” before she could finish her sentence the old man interrupted “It’s people like you who think there is time”
Slowly making puffs of smoke he started speaking, now in a much more serious tone. “There was a time when I had all the success in the world, I was a famed businessman, had loads of money and all the luxuries you can’t even imagine”
“I didn’t let this get to my head as you might expect” he smiled slightly
“I had learnt giving back long before I made it big, I helped out the needy, I always made it a point to reward whoever I met and never did my friends and relatives suffer from financial burden because I was always there for them”
“So where did it all went wrong?” She asked
“I did it all for approval from the society, I did it because I wanted people to tell me I’m a good person, I was selfish because helping them brought me joy, joy of being in command to remedy the miseries”
“ True selfless act doesn’t exist, it is always supposed to bring you joy because you are bringing joy to others, its infectious” she interrupted.
“It’s a little more complicated than that kid, its not about the act but the intention, if you’re intending for approval that’s all you’ll get, but there are few blessed souls who intend for nothing, they’re crazy enough to do things without expecting anything in return, not even approval or the promise of personal joy”
“Let me show you something” he said and got up. He opened the cupboard and reached for a wooden box. The brownish wooden box and apple green colored markings on it, it had broken hinges which were attached with cellotapes. He opened the box and there was a letter which was wrapped in plastic cover. He opened the letter and pointed out, “this was given to me by my grandpa.
My grandpa was a wise man, I once asked him his worst regret. He started writing all his beautiful experiences of life on a piece of paper. Then out of nowhere he lit a matchstick and burnt one edge of the paper. As the fire started engulfing the letters he extinguished it by putting the paper in a glass of water. He then asked me to read the letter. Half the page was burnt and most of the other half had smeared ink making letters illegible”
“Its all a mess grandpa! I told him, he looked into my eyes and said, thats life kid! You do some beautiful stuff and then you ignite it with fire of jealousy, hatred and disenchantment and then you try to overcompensate it by being cold and holding on for too long when you should have let go thereby clouding whatever that is left”
“I think this generation has taken it a step further you don’t burn letters you burn bridges, my biggest regret is knowing this fact well enough and yet being complicit to the same” he stood up as he spoke, with his cigarette almost finished now he took the letter and lit it with his cigarette “Some things deserve a closure just because holding them long enough will smear their beauty rather they should be remembered for their integrity”
Both of them watched as the letter turned to ashes in the background of setting sun!
The table was otherwise untidy. There was a half filled ink bottle at one corner. Splashes of blue ink stained the rugged chequered tablecloth unevenly. Reflection of rainbow coloured light from a glass paperweight was luminating the face of the old man.
There was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
"Its me Sarah, your nurse, its time for your medicines"
"I don't want it" he grunted in dismay and went back to scribbling letters.
"What is it that bothers you?" asked Sarah.
For a moment he raised his head looked towards her, his face was reminiscent of a barren land. The eyebrows were thick with patchy spots of grey hair. There was a scar at the left eyebrow which had caused focal hair loss. His eyes spoke of earnest regret. He groaned a bit and then went back to scribbling.
Sarah stood there for a while seeing him struggle with whatever that he was trying to do then sat down besides him. “I have noticed everyone in this hostel opens up after some time, its been two years I haven’t seen you talk much, no one ever visits you, and you are always busy as if you’re upto something, I wanna know what’s the deal with you old man?” asked Sarah visibly irritated but yet trying hard to remain polite.
“What is it that bothers me? Its you!!” angrily he shouted, before she could say anything he threw the paper away and lit a cigarette. “You are not allowed to..” before she could finish her sentence the old man interrupted “It’s people like you who think there is time”
Slowly making puffs of smoke he started speaking, now in a much more serious tone. “There was a time when I had all the success in the world, I was a famed businessman, had loads of money and all the luxuries you can’t even imagine”
“I didn’t let this get to my head as you might expect” he smiled slightly
“I had learnt giving back long before I made it big, I helped out the needy, I always made it a point to reward whoever I met and never did my friends and relatives suffer from financial burden because I was always there for them”
“So where did it all went wrong?” She asked
“I did it all for approval from the society, I did it because I wanted people to tell me I’m a good person, I was selfish because helping them brought me joy, joy of being in command to remedy the miseries”
“ True selfless act doesn’t exist, it is always supposed to bring you joy because you are bringing joy to others, its infectious” she interrupted.
“It’s a little more complicated than that kid, its not about the act but the intention, if you’re intending for approval that’s all you’ll get, but there are few blessed souls who intend for nothing, they’re crazy enough to do things without expecting anything in return, not even approval or the promise of personal joy”
“Let me show you something” he said and got up. He opened the cupboard and reached for a wooden box. The brownish wooden box and apple green colored markings on it, it had broken hinges which were attached with cellotapes. He opened the box and there was a letter which was wrapped in plastic cover. He opened the letter and pointed out, “this was given to me by my grandpa.
My grandpa was a wise man, I once asked him his worst regret. He started writing all his beautiful experiences of life on a piece of paper. Then out of nowhere he lit a matchstick and burnt one edge of the paper. As the fire started engulfing the letters he extinguished it by putting the paper in a glass of water. He then asked me to read the letter. Half the page was burnt and most of the other half had smeared ink making letters illegible”
“Its all a mess grandpa! I told him, he looked into my eyes and said, thats life kid! You do some beautiful stuff and then you ignite it with fire of jealousy, hatred and disenchantment and then you try to overcompensate it by being cold and holding on for too long when you should have let go thereby clouding whatever that is left”
“I think this generation has taken it a step further you don’t burn letters you burn bridges, my biggest regret is knowing this fact well enough and yet being complicit to the same” he stood up as he spoke, with his cigarette almost finished now he took the letter and lit it with his cigarette “Some things deserve a closure just because holding them long enough will smear their beauty rather they should be remembered for their integrity”
Both of them watched as the letter turned to ashes in the background of setting sun!
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