OF UNWORTHY FRINEDS

OF UNWORTHY FRINEDS
(IN DAILY POST)
Rajbir Deswal‘
She looked white. Run down. Weather beaten. A hoary picture with scars. She buttonholed me on my stroll. “I lost my father!” she told me. “Oh, I am sorry!” I said and asked, “Do you want to inform someone? “ My hand drifted towards the pocket for my mobile phone.

“Do you live here?” I sought to know as I hadn’t ever seen her in that house. “No, I live in Sector 4, house number 56!” she said, her voice trembling. She was restless. She wiped her parched lips with her hands, every now and then. She kept looking at the main entry of the house she was standing at.

“When did it happen? Do you want a doctor called in?” I asked her. “It’s been a year now! But it feels as if it happened just now!” she said. I was taken aback. I pulled my hand out of the pocket, dropping the mobile phone there itself. Many women in the neighbouring houses were standing at their gates and exchanging glances and nasty smiles while looking at me talking with the woman.

Things were beginning to become clear in my mind. I began to feel uncomfortable too, not with what I was then indulging in, but that people around should be thinking I am a fool. “Did she lose her mental balance after the tragedy?” I thought to myself and asked her, “What do you want me to do?”

“Just call them from inside,” she said pointing at the door of the house we were standing outside. “They were my father’s best friends. They had been with us through all ups and downs. They stood by us when my marriage hit a rough patch. They had even promised help in case my father didn’t survive his cancer. They are a decent couple. My father and uncle were best of colleagues, known more as pals,” she said. The door didn’t open. The lights went off.

I was at sea and couldn’t instantly decide what to do. I tried to wriggle out fearing her father’s friends may not like my intrusion in their personal matter. And if the neighbours’ glances were so conforming to a weird thing happening, then they must have a reason for it. “But would they not mind a stranger like me calling them when you already know them? I mean when they are your father’s friends, then they should definitely help you!” I said to her and began to walk my way, so very nonchalantly.

She was, as if, waiting for a reassurance. She was as if wanting some endorsement of her views. She was, as if, wanting to justify her presence at her diseased father’s friends place. Excitedly, she told me, “Yes, exactly. They should help me. And who else would, if not them? But why aren’t they opening the doors and coming out?” She started snapping her fingers and leapt to press the call bell yet another time.

Having waited for a response for a few moments, she turned to me,” Don’t worry, I will manage. After all, it’s me who has to manage. You may go. Thank you very much indeed!” She excused herself, stretching a very genuine and not purpose-manoeuvered smile, either reading my thoughts or realising that I was yet another unworthy friend. I had already moved away from her. Unmoved.