The coin was still spinning on the table. Although it had lost some of its vigour from when it had been spun, yet it was still not it’s time to stop. But it did later… but sooner than what I had perceived.
I looked out the open but netted window. The sunlight had almost disappeared. Rain had been forecasted. It would be dark before the usual time of the season.
The little boy sitting out in the compound was quite busy. He had glanced a few times at the sky, but he had nothing to worry about, he was in the shaded part of the compound.
The boy continued on with his work diligently. He was cleaning the glass chimney of the oil lamps. Next, he would clean the burners and place wicks in them. But first cleaning the glass had to be completed.
The houses had electricity, but the frequent cutouts made life at night a bit more difficult than the somewhat manageable day time. Hence, oil lamps were a cost effective portable lighting solution for people. A place in the room or hook on the wall could be found for placing the lanterns throughout the houses.
It seemed the boy was done with cleaning the glass in his hand. He raised the glass in front of the remaining light of the Sun. A smile erupted on his face. I guess he was quite pleased with his work. Drops of light rain began marking their presence on the open floor of the compound. The boy went back to the task at hand
I closed my eyes and opened them.. The memory I had recreated outside the window had been replaced by trees of present reality which could be seen over the boundary wall of the house.
The memory wasn’t mine but my father’s. I had tried my best to restore it on the basis of what I had heard of it.
Why was this memory important?
“The focus I was able to put in doing everyday household tasks laid down the path of a successful career in my life ahead,” my father had explained.
I picked the coin and spun it another time. But I did not wait to see it stop spinning and walked away. It will continue to spin in my thoughts for as long as I last or the thought does.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 
One response to “The Coin is Spinning”
Wonderful metaphor and memory.
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