After a recent spell of heavy rain, everything seemed to breathe deeper in the cool and clear air. Mr Mehta walked on the first-floor balcony of his house, holding his smartphone to the ear. It was a work call that was about to reach an hour in length.
When the call ended, the right arm came down with some pain from being in that posture for a long time. Mr Metha looked at the sky, it was clear and the usual light haze was absent.
He was suddenly reminded of the telescope that his father had got him as a gift. It was his favourite possession at one point and both were inseparable to the point where people thought Mr Mehta would find a profession with interest among the stars and other presence of that world.
Mr Metha, despite being tired, had this sudden urge to reunite with his telescope again. He headed straight for his wife in the study room, he found her busy trying to juggle her thoughts and write something that would eventually form a book, a pulsing attempt of the last three years that hadn’t amounted to something yet. Mr Mehta thought it best to not disturb her at this moment which might produce a few more words.
Mr Mehta couldn’t quite remember where the telescope was, in his memory the last person to touch it was his late mother while he was away abroad to complete his post-graduation. She had mentioned something about packing and keeping it safely on the call, but where, Mr Mehta couldn’t remember.
Mr Mehta carried a stool to his childhood room, which later became his son’s who lived elsewhere at present for work purposes.
Mr Mehta searched in the storage compartment of the bed, then the upper part of the cupboard and then finally the loft cabinets. There was just so much to search through, a lot had accumulated over time. Covered in dust and sweat, and a few light bruises, Mr Mehta felt the lack of fitness very clearly, but kept on, the yearning to see the telescope increased by the minute. It seemed like everything was there except the telescope.
Mr Mehta then headed for his bedroom. Ended the search there without the find and rather more fatigue, frustration. Then he did the same for the two other bedrooms. It was getting out of hand; it was becoming a matter of regret and self-doubt. He didn’t understand why he let the telescope out of his mind in the first place. The memories came flooding in of the day he found it standing in the room after coming back from school and his parents quietly observing from behind whether he liked it or not.
The ground floor of the house had been given out on rent. So, there was nothing belonging to Mr Mehta in some closed storage place there.
Tired and defeated, Mr Mehta sat in the drawing room. He did not find the telescope, but he did come across something else he had forgotten, an old photo album and there it was in a photograph with him, waiting to be smiled upon with a fond remembrance.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 
One response to “A Wish from the Past”
What a beautifully reflective piece this is. The story gently draws the reader into Mr. Mehta’s quiet world, where a simple search for a forgotten telescope turns into a touching journey through memory, longing, and nostalgia. I especially loved how the rain-washed atmosphere mirrors his inner state—clear, contemplative, and slightly wistful. The gradual build-up of his search creates both tension and tenderness, and the ending with the photograph is subtle yet deeply moving.
LikeLike