He got up in the wee hours of the morning. In the darkness, he looked at the shadow of his wife sleeping beside him and the twisting petals of the fan that poured wind down on them. So as not to disturb her, he silently went to the bathroom and began the day. A brush of his teeth, a quick shower and then he was out to get dressed.
The bed was empty and the creases on the bed told of the place where his wife was sleeping just moments ago. A step outside his small bed room and in the pale morning darkness, he saw the yellow flame of the stove. He stepped back into the bedroom. With his single hand, he picked out a shirt and pant to wear from a second-hand wooden cupboard he bought from a scrap dealer. As he undressed, his wife appeared at the doorway, “Tea is ready”.
He nodded his head. She stood at the doorway, her eyes gazing at him and asking herself the same question that she asked everyday, should she help her husband get dressed? But, she knew the answer. Her husband was a proud man and he did not like help, it just reminded him what he was missing. Yet, he never failed in his husbandly duties, she could testify to that.
He came out of the bedroom with trousers on and his shirt loosely hung on his shoulders. His right hand was busy as the fingers expertly buttoned his shirt. “You didn’t have to”, spoke the husband as he sipped the tea and ate the parata that his wife made. Silence was her reply.
With breakfast done, he left for work.
***
The key was shoved inside the lock. With a twist, the lock opened. Putting the key in his pocket, he pulled of the chain around the gate and tugged open the bars of his shop. Darkness had almost faded and morning was almost upon today. His eyes proudly glance up to his shop’s title – ‘Raj Tea Shop’.
It was in the corner of a lane of shops.
‘Rataka-rataka-rataka’
Ahead on the lane, he heard the sound an early morning local train charging through an empty track. That was the same place where he lost his left hand. Now, only a short stub remained at from his left shoulder. He brushed off the thought and got inside his shop.
His right hand turned the tap open, put the kettle under the gushing water and then, placed it on to the stove. With a twist, the tap was shut and the tea box was open. He poured a sufficient amount of tea powder inside the boiling water.
So his day began as he waited for customers to line up outside for his cutting chai.
The bed was empty and the creases on the bed told of the place where his wife was sleeping just moments ago. A step outside his small bed room and in the pale morning darkness, he saw the yellow flame of the stove. He stepped back into the bedroom. With his single hand, he picked out a shirt and pant to wear from a second-hand wooden cupboard he bought from a scrap dealer. As he undressed, his wife appeared at the doorway, “Tea is ready”.
He nodded his head. She stood at the doorway, her eyes gazing at him and asking herself the same question that she asked everyday, should she help her husband get dressed? But, she knew the answer. Her husband was a proud man and he did not like help, it just reminded him what he was missing. Yet, he never failed in his husbandly duties, she could testify to that.
He came out of the bedroom with trousers on and his shirt loosely hung on his shoulders. His right hand was busy as the fingers expertly buttoned his shirt. “You didn’t have to”, spoke the husband as he sipped the tea and ate the parata that his wife made. Silence was her reply.
With breakfast done, he left for work.
***
The key was shoved inside the lock. With a twist, the lock opened. Putting the key in his pocket, he pulled of the chain around the gate and tugged open the bars of his shop. Darkness had almost faded and morning was almost upon today. His eyes proudly glance up to his shop’s title – ‘Raj Tea Shop’.
It was in the corner of a lane of shops.
‘Rataka-rataka-rataka’
Ahead on the lane, he heard the sound an early morning local train charging through an empty track. That was the same place where he lost his left hand. Now, only a short stub remained at from his left shoulder. He brushed off the thought and got inside his shop.
His right hand turned the tap open, put the kettle under the gushing water and then, placed it on to the stove. With a twist, the tap was shut and the tea box was open. He poured a sufficient amount of tea powder inside the boiling water.
So his day began as he waited for customers to line up outside for his cutting chai.
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