Sunday evening arrived and ten years old Sohan sat sipping his hot chocolate. He was looking at the clock. It was 5:35 pm. Before 6 pm, his father would wake up from his Sunday evening nap.
Sohan looked at his mother, Mrs Parnaik, who sat cutting vegetables.
“Has father woken up?” asked Sohan
Mrs Parnaik looked at the clock and spoke, “he will in some time”
Sohan heard footsteps and Mr Parnaik entered the drawing room; the sleep hadn’t completely left his eyes yet.
Sohan kept looking at his father until Mr Parnaik noticed Sohan watching and smiled. He walked back inside and came back with some money in hand and handed it to Sohan.
“What should I get?” Sohan asked even though he knew what it was
“The usual, five samosas*,” Mr Patnaik said and Sohan quickly jumped off the chair and ran to his sandals.
*(a deep fried triangular shaped snack which contains a spicy mixture within, do try if you haven’t)
“No running. Keep your eyes and ears open,” said a concerned Mrs Patnaik
Sohan walked out of the house with a very positive feeling.
It was something the Patnaik family did almost every Sunday and Sohan would wait for it, not only for the samosa but also the grilled sandwich which he would buy with the extra money his father always gave him.
Almost everyone in the area who wanted sweets and snacks went to the sweet shop of Mr Samarth Kabiraj. The shop had been standing there for a long time and people would come from far to buy sweets there or if someone was passing by the area he/she would certainly be asked by family and friends to get sweets from Mr Kabiraj’s sweet shop. Swaad Misthan was the name of the shop.
When Sohan reached the shop, 75 years old Mr Kabiraj smiled at him.
“The same?” asked Mr Kabiraj
“Yes,” smiled Sohan and then said, “the grilled sandwich too”
Mr Kabiraj laughed as he ordered one of his staff to pack the order.
Sohan looked around and something felt different about the shop. Of course.. how did he not see it, the metal stand with racks, which had different kinds of chips was gone.
“No chips?” asked Sohan and for a second Mr Kabiraj’s smile started fading and then it came back.
“No chips. I have to go to my son. He used to be little like you not he is this big,” Mr Kabiraj showed extending his left hand up
Sohan smiled and spoke, “So the shop will be closed?”
“Yes” replied Mr Kabiraj
“When will you be back?” asked Sohan
Mr Kabiraj stayed silent, and then said, “Let’s see..”
Sohan came back home with a thoughtful face.
“What happened?” asked Mrs Patnaik as she opened the door
Sohan stepped in and said, “Mr Kabiraj is going to his son. He will close the shop.”
“He has gone before, he will be back,” said Mrs Patnaik
“He did not say when he would be back. He always tells me,” said a worried Sohan
Mrs Patnaik knew what this meant. Swaad Misthan was closing down. Everyone knew that day was coming, unlike Mr Kabiraj and his father before him, Mr Kabiraj’s son showed little interest in continuing on the family business. He wanted to become a pilot and Mr Kabiraj didn’t argue much. He didn’t want his son to feel pressured.
The word spread and many rushed to the sweet shop to have the sweets and snacks they had come to love so much for such a long time. But Mr Kabiraj was waiting for that one person, to whom he needed to say goodbye the most.
One night as Mr Kabiraj waited for the shop to be cleaned before leaving, he saw the familiar figure. Mr Sehgal quietly walked to the shop without looking at Mr Kabiraj. He stood and looked at the board displaying the shop’s name which was placed right outside the shop.
“What are you going to do with this?” asked Mr Sehgal still looking at the board
“Don’t know, maybe sell it to a scrap dealer. Unless you want it of course. My father had it made from a famous sign painter in the area back in the day,” said Mr Kabiraj
Mr Sehgal kept quiet and then spoke, “If you had asked… maybe we could have run it together”
“That would have been interesting,” laughed Mr Kabiraj, “it’s time Kamal, our working days are gone. It’s lot of hard work, I can’t even keep track of the expenses properly anymore, I am sure some people are having a good time fooling an old fellow”
“That boy of yours, only if he would understand what this meant,” sighed Mr Sehgal
“I understood him,” smiled Mr Kabiraj, “we have done what we want with our lives, it is our duty to understand what they want now. He has a different dream, I have to understand”
Mr Sehgal walked and sat next to Mr Kabiraj and said, “I don’t suppose an old man will do much travelling and would come back once in a while to show his face”
“If its face, then you can see that on the phone,” said Mr Kabiraj then he suddenly realised, “you have never come to my house and neither have I come to yours. We have always met here”
“This place felt right,” said Mr Sehgal who by now was becoming overwhelmed with emotions
“Why don’t we do one thing, you come to my house for lunch tomorrow and the day after, I will come to your house. How does it sound?” said Mr Kabiraj
“It sounds.. nice,” said Mr Sehgal wiping tears as Mr Kabiraj patter Mr Sehgal’s shoulder got up to switch off the lights of the shop with a heart which grew heavier by the moment.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
That Evening
Early Morning Memories 