There was commotion in one of the oldest marketplaces of the city. It was surprising, the number of people that had gathered in a place where even walking by required a bit of struggle.
The worn off light yellow colour on the wall had a touch of black. The view covered the eyes of those watching.
Making his way through the crowd, ensuring he was still holding his jute bag containing tiffin and a bottle of water, Rudransh found a position that could allow him to see what was happening. It did come to mind as a jolt at first.
Mohanlal’s restaurant was covered in black by fire. Nothing remained untouched by fire, everything had marks of burn. It had occurred early in the morning around four.
Rudransh looked around at the people taking photos and selfies on their phones. The policemen trying to push people back at a safe distance. The firefighters were still investigating the cause and making sure there was no further threat.
Rudransh tried to see but couldn’t see old Mohanlal anywhere. He hoped the old man had all the support he could get, this was his life’s work here. Rudransh did spot some familiar sympathetic eyes of the faces he recognised from around the market.
Rudransh had been working at a medicine shop here for the past five years. He was unmarried when he started and back then Mohanlal’s restaurant was the only place he could afford for lunch and the occasional cup of tea. The restaurant was a boon for several people around, as Mohanlal allowed them to pay later when they could and sometimes, he gave an extra snack for no charge.
Rudransh knew the restaurant won’t be built again. Mohanlal was old, his daughter and son were busy with their careers. There was simply no life to be put behind the effort to make it whole again.
Just like that the fire had made everything a memory. Rudransh stood struck by the memories and then he breathed in reality and looked at his watch. Rudransh slowly disappeared within the crowd as he walked back. It was time to work.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 