1.6.08

OXYGEN

With eyes set on the road he was languidly walking along with short
steps. I, too had to down to keep pace with him.
"Bhai Sahab, let us rest for two minutes," he said as he paused near
the culvert.
"Yes, yes! of course!" said I.
"I get tired very soon. I feel as if there is no life in my body," he
muttered. He then lighted a cigarette.
Early morning strollers raised their eyebrows as they saw him
smoking. Some army men went past us on the double.
"I used to watch you running like these army men," he said. "It is
now because of me that you have stopped running."
"No, no you are wrong," I hurriedly said, not allowing him to say
anything more. "I really like your company very much."
He looked at me pensively. His beard showed a noticeable growth. His
eyes reflected acute helplessness. We had become each other's
companions when I was having a stroll in the Gandhi Park four days
sgo. What cruel jokes life plays with some people!. He had been
crushed down by calamities befalling one after the other.
We had resumed our stroll. He continued talking in the same depressed mood.
"I am feeling a bit tired," I lied to him after a little while.
"You tired? so soon? I am not tired," he said spiritedly.
"Still....do sit down for two minutes....for my sake."
"Why not....why not?" It was the first time in those four days that a
faint smile of self-confidence appeared on his lips.
He did not smoke this time, but, instead, resorted to deep breathing,
filling his lungs each time with fresh air. When, after a brief
repose, we resumed our stroll, there was no trace of languor in his
gait.


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