Mr Chahal, in his early seventies, lived his life with a lot of optimism. His life alone had taught him a lot more than what he thought remained for him. His wife remained smiling in a photograph on the wall and their only son lived abroad and was mostly too busy to call or respond to messages.
Mr Chahal dressed up every day, wearing his fine clothes and shoes, a different hairstyle each day, a different spectacle, a different walking stick and carried a different expression. Slowly he walked out of his house to engage with the world, the grocery bag he carried however was the same.
Whenever he came across someone known, he/she would greet him as usual but would also be surprised by the noticeable difference in the person they were meeting. It wasn’t always so, but for the past two years, that had been the case.
It was something Mr Chahal had decided to do. He was born in an orthodox family and despite his natural pull towards acting and theatre, his parents were completely against it and afraid that he might get swayed away by this alluring field of entertainment, Mr Chahal’s parents sent him to a boarding school with a reputation for strictness.
Hence, Mr Chahal had lived what was considered an ideal life in his time, a wife, a child, a decent job and good enough home. One day though Mr Chahal in his old realised that he was finally free from all restraints except those that came with old age and now it was time to make the world a stage and besides time was a factor and thinking more wouldn’t make a sense at this point.
So everyday a different character walked out of the house. It was not something unplanned and random, Mr Chahal worked on them, the characteristics, the traits, the subjects on which that particular character should possess knowledge. He had found a very amusing hobby which kept him occupied and away from his apparent loneliness.
People had a mixed perception; some did appreciate the art, while some thought age was having a toll on the mind. Children thoroughly enjoyed interacting with him.
Later, when he got older and became more confined to his home, he wished that he had thought of a way of recording it all. Maybe it could have become a legacy.
Mr Chahal, spent the final few years with his son abroad, a decision forced upon him. People would try to imagine whether Mr Chahal was playing a different character every day there as well. Then the day arrived, that brought an end to the man and the characters.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 