A Thought to be Forgotten

Mr Rathwa opened his eyes to the blades of the ceiling fan rotating. It was another morning. He looked to his right to see that Mrs Rathwa had already woken up and vacated the place where she slept. 

Mr Rathwa decided to spend some more time on the bed. He had nothing to rush to, he was leading a happy retired life. This was a new house that he and his son Girish had bought together. Much bigger than the apartment they used to live in. Everything was almost settled in, apart from a few boxes which Amruta, Girish’s wife insisted needed to be looked into for things which could be discarded.



“All right time to get up,” Mr Rathwa told himself and his consciousness pulled his physical self-up.



Mrs Rathwa entered the room to keep some washed and dried clothes, she looked at Mr Rathwa sitting and thinking, “Looks like the morning has swayed someone into a thought.”



Mr Rathwa broke off from his thoughts and looked at Mrs Rathwa, “It is just one of those mornings when I realise waking up is not as exciting as it used to be. What do you think Geetika? Is it the age?”



Mrs Rathwa who was keeping the clothes in the cupboard spoke without turning, “You need to do more than just resting, reading the newspaper and watching television. Read a book, meet a friend, explore an art, it’s been quite a while since you have retired and it looks like it is not just work that you retired from, there are many parts of life you retired from as well.”



Mr Rathwa spoke no further, he got up ready to start something new today, he was going to start reading a book.



After completing his morning chores and having his breakfast while going through the newspaper, Mr Rathwa got up and headed into the study room where the books were arranged in a cupboard with bookshelves.



Mr Rathwa went through the book titles.



‘Did we always have such an impressive collection of books?’ Mr Rathwa thought and remembered how his mother was fond of reading books and this fondness was something even Girish had.



Mr Rathwa had a busy and struggling life switching between jobs and business ventures neither of which bore the fruit which could keep his world completely financially stable, but his efforts bore a different kind of fruit in form of Girish who had turned out to be a responsible family person and he had also done well in his career as a news anchor.



The cover of a book caught Mr Rathwa’s eyes, so he took it out. It was one of his mother’s books. The cover had started to tear on the edges, and the pages had turned into a different shade of white.



Mr Rathwa turned the pages linking the action in his mind with how his mother used to do it. While doing so a bookmark fell out which Mr Rathwa did not care to look for at the moment. He had decided he was going to read this book and then he bent to pick the bookmark and found it was not a bookmark at all.



The bookmark was actually an envelope with a letter. Mr Rathwa picked up the letter, the envelope was sealed.



‘Was this mother’s?’ he wondered until his eyes caught the name of the person it was addressed to; it was addressed to him.



Mr Rathwa slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was a letter of employment.



‘Why don’t I know about this?’ Mr Rathwa wondered



As he went through the letter his heart sank. It appeared that in the past he had been selected for a job in a reputed company and the salary package the position offered could have been the answer Mr Rathwa was searching for. All the struggles would have ended, he could have led a much better life than the one he had gone through.



‘Why, what happened? Why didn’t mother tell me about this? Did she place it in the book and forget it?’ Mr Rathwa wondered recalling all his struggles, some tears collected in his eyes and suddenly the letter was taken from his hand.



It was Mrs Rathwa who took it. She read the letter and understood what happened, she tore the letter immediately and looked at the book in Mr Rathwa’s hand.



“That is a good book, I hope you enjoy your new hobby,” Mrs Rathwa said as she walked out of the room with the torn letter and the envelope.

Written by Anuran Chatterji

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