A Random Story II

The Man In The Faded Suit has channelled my imagination towards his mundane existence. Hence he is back in this new story, as the pro-antagonist caught in the struggle between conformity and humanity. I still desist from assigning him a name, and hope that the charm of anonymity will make it to the end.

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He was on his way back from work, and had to face the inevitable traffic caused by the similarity of fellow human existences. Life had not been too kind to him since his days of travelling by bus, nigh 10 years ago. His status was now that of a ’95 Fiat Uno, which wasn’t anywhere close to his expectations from life. The same could be said of his marriage, kids and the inability to buy his own apartment. The flock of vehicles inched forward, the exhausts encouraging passive smoking. The ancient engine groaned in first gear, seemingly reflecting his own frustration. The compounded effect of the heat, noise and smoke served the purpose of making him frown on himself.

There was a sharp rap on his window, and he jerked his head up quickly, further cursing his forgetfulness. He bridged the three inches between his car and the next, then looked to his right for the source of the guilty sound. He saw a small girl, barely in her teens, standing expectantly with tissue-paper boxes stacked in her hands. His first impulse was to roll up his window and wave her off, as he did with all beggars; Then his eyes focussed on her face- perhaps by chance, or long-forgotten curiosity.

She had deep,piercing black eyes and a somewhat shapely face, hidden though it was under layers of grime. Despite her dishevelled appearance and patched clothes, her firm jaw and angled brows betrayed a dignity that was not expected from a beggar. No, the man  thought, this girl really believes she is selling a product, and not demanding charity. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked for the price of a tissue box. On hearing her gruff response, he hesitated again, wondering whether to haggle with her or let it go. Suddenly, the frustration within him that had momentarily subsided flared up, and his mind screamed that he was not a sheikh to dispose money for petty sentiments. His anger broke through, and he harshly quoted the girl a much lower price. The girl replied grimly, “Sorry sir, but I do not need your charity. I will not sell this at such a low price. If you do not want to buy it, you should have said so. ” With this, she briskly turned away. The response left him dumbstruck for several moments. Then he did something which surprised his own self. He ran out of his car, leaving the engine running, and caught up with the girl in the midst of the sea of wheeled boxes. She turned around, half in fear. The man quickly thrust a wad of notes into her hand, grabbed one of the tissue boxes, and fled back to the solitude of his car.

When he eventually calmed down his accelerated breathing, he pondered about the little girl’s future. Would she retain the dignity she had shown today? Or would she lose it all, becoming one of the many victims of the trap set for girls like her by dealers in human debasement? The fact remained that the young one had reminded him of something important, something he had buried long ago for the sake of his job. As he inched towards his home, he realised the notes he had given her were in fact a substantial fraction of the paycheck he had received that day. But for once, he did not regret his mistake.

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A Random Story 2 by Satyaki is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at creativecynic.wordpress.com.
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A Random Story

This is my second attempt in life at writing stories, so NO wisecracks on the perceptible childishness and lack of clarity. I also apologize if this reads like something from Cyanide&Happiness. Ahem…

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Today He was a bit late in catching the bus, the medium of dreary travel to his workplace. He was one of the uncounted millions who did meaningless, inconsequential jobs in dilapidated offices, simply to fill bread and butter in their mundane lives. His usual seat in the rickety bus had been occupied, by an unshaven youth dressed in rags. Nevertheless, he went and stood by his seat, more out of habit than anything else. His faded office suit sparkled against the torn, ill-fitting clothes of the young man.

As the bus began to move, he observed people in his field of view, albeit in a disinterested manner. It was the aftermath of Holi ; People with coloured ears, and faces raw pink from scrubbing away grease were a common sight. He himself did not indulge in such revelry – To him, Holi was a precious day of relief from work; Getting drunk and fraternising with next-door strangers seemed a wasteful manner of entertainment. Instead, he stayed at home and leafed through well- thumbed books and magazines, that refreshed his memories of better days. His wife and children participated in festivities and gained sympathy from society for his eccentricity and anti-socialism.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he saw that the middle-aged man seated in front had taken off his cap in the sweltering heat. To his surprise, he found that the man was nearly bald, and his shining dome was coloured a pretty pink. He started to laugh at the sight, when suddenly he felt a nudge against his trouser pocket. In a flash, he recollected every incident of pickpocketing he had ever heard or seen. He clasped his pocket and glared down at the would-be thief.

The man in rags was nudging him with his elbow, smiling and pointing at the bald gentleman. On meeting the office-goer’s gaze, his smile quickly faded and he looked away. The man in the suit realized, too late, the real intention of the young lad. He tried to smile at him, but the damage had been done; A little less laughter had been shared, a little more warmth had left the world. As he pondered deeply in shame and sadness, he did not notice that his wallet was missing from its place.