Photograph.

 When this particular incident happened almost two months ago on a rainy August afternoon I knew I had to write about it. Not because it was of any historic importance or its equivalent but it was then I realised that it will remain as a core memory. If not anything at least I wanted this to be recorded somewhere so that I can re-read it multiple times and live through it all over again for the rest of my life. 

A story of how I believed again.

It was raining cats and dogs here in Eluru and I didn't get to see the sun for 3 odd days in a row. For earning my living (and occasionally sourdoughs and French baguettes from Theobroma) I work as a Deputy Branch Manager at one of the branches of a public sector bank. That day I was feeling rather irritable and meh, thanks to the weather. Work was getting piled up on my desk and everything was moving at a slow pace. All I wanted to do was go back home, tuck myself in bed and read something. Or watch a movie. Or just sleep all day long. Anything but slog at office. 

And the sleep inducing post lunch session wasn't any better. Around this time, the incessant rain had taken a break; we could see the sunshine and feel the warmth. An elderly man, presumably in his 80s had stepped inside the branch and put his umbrella in a corner. He stood tall and his gait was like that of a cat - steady and silent. Adjusting his specs he walked straight towards my desk and sat in front of me. My manager explained that we have to finish processing his wife's deceased claim today. I was given the required documentation and got back to frantically typing away at the keyboard to get done with this as quickly as possible. On good days I wouldn't mind engaging people in a conversation while they wait to get their transactions done but not on that day. I wasn't in a mood to talk or listen to anyone then. I bent my head low and was in the ninja work mode.

It so happens that the old man's account is operated jointly by him and his wife. Now that his wife is no more, as per the rules and procedures we changed it to an account only on his name. I took his passbook and without thinking much removed his wife's photograph on it and kept it with me with an intention of disposing it off later. I still had a couple of major tasks to get through for the day. All this while the old man just sat in his chair and kept observing me without uttering a word. Within 20 minutes his work was done and I was relieved to move on to the next. I stopped.

Again, I hadn't considered this but I took the small stamp sized photograph of the old man's wife and gave it back to him. He didn't ask for it. I wanted to throw it away before something clicked in my mind and I handed it to him. I leaned back in my chair and was staring at his wrinkled face. He pushed back the specs onto the bridge his of nose and kept thumbing that tiny piece of paper affectionately for a while. I had to shift my gaze as he noticed that my eyes were on him. He moved the chair closer to my desk and said in a hoarse voice, "This is my wife. We've been married for 63 years now. She suffered a cardiac arrest last week and passed away before my eyes." His eyes welled up and he could barely say a word without putting a lot of effort. Quietly he collected his belongings and left the premises. I had to go to the washroom to wipe off my tears.

This isn't the first time I had to deal with this kind of transaction at a bank. I remember processing deceased claims like a robot during the second wave of Covid-19. If you know me well you will describe me as a person with the walls up high to protect my emotions at all costs. It took just an old man who spoke 4 sentences in 30 minutes to leave me vulnerable at the end of that encounter. For me it was straight out of a Mani Ratnam movie seeing someone feel something precious for a human being. Now I don't know if that couple had a happily married life for that long a period of living with each other and I don't want to assume the worse. All that mattered to me then and now is how the old man felt when he got his wife's photograph back. Wish she saw how loved she was. Maybe she knew it already or maybe she didn't. One thing is for sure, I feel safe whenever I think about this. I know that friendship, companionship and love do exist. The only lesson for me to take to my grave is that you need to tell and/ or show a person how you feel about them in a language that you both understand before it is too late.

A million thanks and lots of love to the couple for putting things into perspective and driving home the point that every person you hold close to your heart is to be cherished even if all that's left of them is a stamp sized colour photograph.

Saraswathi, Subbaiah misses you. Hope you find your peace. Om Shanti.