Chanda uncle

Chanda uncle had been a long part of the bygone childhood. He lived nearby and would walk down the street, smilingly, where we would play. He was tall and thin, always would wear something white. He would walk straight, eyes to the ground, chest high. Near his mud house, were several guava and jamun trees. Be it summer or rain, we would go and feast upon it. No one had ever shooed us away.

For long, I had stopped saying the customary Namaste to him. The communication had ended and only momentary eye contacts remained. While at home, I remember him still walking past the gate, but not smiling. His teeth had fallen. He had grown much thinner and old. He had patches of grey hairs lingering over the head. His mouth red stained with Pan. I do remember his voice.

I got to know that today he has kindly departed. I wish that he be rest in peace and may the shades of guava tree ever linger upon him with benevolences. ❤