Validation
Short Story
by Sunil Sharma
A recurring fear!
Evaporation!
Before others---including family.
This fear turned into a nightmare---and
became a daily reality for Prakash K. Singh. For life.
Prakash K. Singh is in the office, sorting
the post in the gloomy corner; middle of the stacked letters, postcards, gifts,
books; his colleagues often asked about him or the peon came and looked around,
saying loudly, “Where is Prakash? Saab wants him in the cabin.”
Too much!!!
The bitter fact: Gentle folks just failed
to spot him in the piles on the upswept floor with creaking cupboards and old almirahs,
a poorly-ventilated space lit up by two naked bulbs only, back of the post
office, in a far-flung Mumbai suburb.
A gangly man, bit awkward, with a slight
hunch but kind eyes, smile and voice; happy to serve irate customers and
colleagues; punctual, obedient, hard-working; never picking up fights or
arguing.
Still, people failed to locate him on the
street, neighbourhood or in the family!
It was a deepening mystery that nobody
could explain: A tall guy with a spare frame could not be seen in a crowd or a
lonely place.
A short guy? Well, possible, sometimes.
A tall man? Hmm, not possible!
It happened---frequently.
A tall guy, unseen!
Life.
Full of contradictions. Not logical,
always.
Prakash K. Singh slowly reconciled to this
condition by immersing self in the work of a postman and delivering hope,
smiles and tears to homes across a 12-mile area, covered on foot, be it rain or
showers. In the apartment houses, reception was same. The reluctantly-opened
doors grabbed the posts from bony hands, hardly smiling at the bearer of the
news, some even rude and shouting; some doors, not opening up at all, only
watching from behind the peep holes. Only occasionally, some old man or woman
from rural background would offer tea or water---and a warm smile and thanks.
Prakash took it in stride. walking was therapy, the elements, constant
companion; the street dogs, friends, wagging tails at the offered biscuits and
bread. Birds trusted him. His crumbs were eaten by pigeons, sparrows and even
ravens.
Blessings!
His Ma had told him. Collect blessings from the dumb. God will protect you
always.
She was the only one who always loved him
and never mocked or found fault. Her words were the words of a well-meaning
teacher, to be trusted and implemented for a better and meaningful life.
Prakash never forgot her wisdom or words.
He grew kind to the dumb and the poor.
They always helped him feel better and overcome a persistent, inner fear---the fear
of disappearing. Yes, you heard it right. Disappearing. From the public
mind.
---What if they make me vanish?
Like a magician? What shall I do then? Will I be able to recover human form
from the abyss of forgetfulness, the Valley of Amnesia, fertilised by the river
Lethe?
---Or, if he vanishes, will they notice?
These were questions he could not handle
on his own. One day, in order to test his fear, he disappeared.
The unplanned disappearance was triggered
by the spousal inability to respond to his early presence in the two-bedroom
house in a low-rent area. Prakash was surprised by this behaviour---a no-see
attitude; blank eyes and a ghost of a smile; chattering on cell phone, in the
open yard, while he sat in the old sofa, near the balcony, watching the yard.
After finishing a long call, she went inside the home, unaware of his pleading
eyes and an expectant face. it was late afternoon. The July sky was overcast
with dark clouds threatening rain. He suddenly felt it was not his home but an
alien place. Prakash wanted to run. He did run. Left quietly and walked
down to the railway station and took a local train to the terminus and spent
five nights on the station in Mumbai central.
Things did not end there.
Fed up of living off the busy platforms,
in the middle of long-distance trains chugging in and out, part of the milling
anonymous crowds of passengers on the move, Prakash returned home, expecting a
warm tearful re-union after a shocked silence, sighs of relief and complaints
about an immature and wayward behaviour from a senior member of the family, so unbecoming!
---he got the shock of his life: They said nothing. The spouse asked, Will
you take dinner or have you eaten out as you often do?
The casual tone was infuriating. Then they
watched the TV, making him disappear again, real time.
He said nothing. He had nothing to say.
Took out the meal on a steel plate and sat down in the corner of the balcony,
ate it there, the cold dinner, as the TV blared loudly inside. And slept on the
chair in his stinking clothes.
His fear was confirmed. The world could
easily make him evaporate on its will. In the office. On the platform, train,
bus. In the bazaar. Neighbourhood. Family.
Despite his tall frame!
Only the dumb creatures of God felt happy.
Prakash was back to his regular world of
delivering posts.
Even the office did not notice his
unauthorized absence!
His fear intensified over the months.
And grew into a nightmare. Into a daily
insecurity, an irrational terror…of vanishing from the public eye, forever!
He felt threatened, vulnerable, something
somewhere trying to eliminate his selfhood, subjectivity, turning them into a
zero…some harm coming his way.
Oblivion!
Total annihilation by a force bigger than him!
Prakash K. Singh lost appetite. Interest
in the job. He went on leave, hiding in the favourite corner of a narrow
balcony. Once, when the family locked him out there---by accident---Prakash
woke up by the cold, post-midnight, he realized the terrible condition of the
forgotten ones by history, society, community, everybody.
Remember God!
---Ma told once. In His sight, you shall be whole again.
He did that.
And became man again.
Sunil Sharma loves to listen to the symphonies of the birds, winds,
oceans, rivers and watch the sky and stars for their ethereal beauty.
A humble word-worshipper: catcher of elusive sounds, meanings and images.
Currently based in Toronto, Canada, he has published 27 creative and critical books so far--- joint and solo.
A winner of, among others, the Golden Globe Award-2023, and, Nissim Award for Excellence for Prose, 2022, for the political novel Minotaur.
His poems were included in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, 2015.
Editor of
the monthly Setu journal (English): https://www.setumag.com/p/setu-home.html
For details, please visit the website: https://sunil-sharma.com
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