She had an amazing calm when she handed over the cup of tea to her husband. I was standing at a distance looking at this couple in the restaurant. Glowing skin, and swollen eyes. It showed that they had traveled the night. The husband’s face was stronger than anything visible in the vicinity. But there was a strange oscillation of expressions on the lady’s face. It seemed she was furious about something but she did not express it. Rather an expression of calmness kept trying to come back on her visage.
The name of the restaurant was Nidhi Sagar. A few minutes walk from the Domlur flyover. Few kilometers from the Airport. A small place totally unsuited to the kind of elderly guests it hosted that morning.
There is something in a human face that tells a story more elaborate than any storyteller but without using the conventional words or expressions.
A whole movie was running in the old man’s mind as he looked blankly at the glass vase with flowers in it, at one corner of the hall. Two small bags with Air Deccan tags attached to them were there, one in the lady’s lap and the other below the table. The tea got generously cold as they watched the same vase. It seemed the hot vapors over the cups of tea settled down back into the tea after not being appreciated by any of the thoughtful elders.
She took a deep breath, which could be heard till where I was sitting, observing them from above the borders of a newspaper.
A sudden gush of tears came up in the lady’s eyes and this was when I stood up and walked towards them. It seemed she could not hold it any more. But the tears went away as fast as they had come. And the old man’s arm gently stretched to her face, wiping softly the pearls that rolled down. He kept holding her hand. And things stopped. I stopped on my way to them.
Time seemed to have paused to give respect to the gentleman and the lady.
Main hoon na. The man said.
It is the most comforting thing for someone at this state to listen and it takes effort, if not anything else, to put strength while uttering them.
They walked to the gate, hand in hand. Again, an awesome poise. An autorickshaw stopped and went away with them.
I turned back to pay my bill but I noticed that one of the bags that was below the table was still there. I picked it up slowly to see at the Airlines tag – Air Deccan, Hyderabad to Bangalore, DN 648. It showed the name of the person and his address. Inside the bag, there was nothing except a over-folded newspaper. I took it out.
The Times of India, 26 August: 42 killed, 50 wounded in Hyderabad blasts.
