"The
older people get, the more they start hating old things."
Years
of struggle and withstanding left futile.
Our LML Vespa has been taken away. Sold and banished. It was the first vehicle we bought after our family of 4 was
born. At early mornings my father used to start for his office from
our riverside home in it, park it at an acquaintance’s home near
the bus stand and leave. Then when he’d be back by the evening he
used to pick it up and come home on it. So for a little girl, it was
the thing that brought her daddy home safely. Numerous rides we have had on
that as a family with the four of us packed on it. A littler version
of my sister standing between the tight clasp of his legs and hands
and myself, a baby, securely in my mother’s hands. To shops, to and
from school and to the movies; the LML Vespa was our little SUV then.
After
we moved to our present home just a hundred yards away from the bus
stand and then later bought our car, we limited its use to petty
trips like his lone rides to the fish market or the saloon. We could
hear its huge grunting sound from a distance of at least a kilo meter in
advance. The way our pet (a she cat) used to wait patiently for him
at the window then, relieved somebody had thought of her at last. A
few, may be 5 or 6, years ago, we stopped using it. I don't know the
reason. The worn tires, the horn, the light, insurance-lapse, my mother's
fears, the car- all went against the poor old fellow. The scooter was
covered and kept away. I never saw my mother and father sharing the
same type of bonding, with her hands over his strong shoulders
reminding him of her presence, in the car as they used to do while
riding the scooter.
Neither
I nor the poor old thing had a peaceful time then on. My father was
eager to sell it. Wasn't gonna bring much money but he just wanted to
sell it off and maybe spare the space. The junkyard dealers were keen
on taking it too. I really had a tough time praying, shouting and
revolting to save our dear friend on wheels. It was nothing less than
a heritage, something that evoked beautiful memories of our past, of
my life, my parents’ and most importantly my grandfather. A few
months ago a brand new scooter came to our home. The old man was completely sidelined. Abandoned in the cold and the rain, away from the shelter
of the porch. Conversations about selling him had somehow stopped
and I was relieved. But soon it was sold for a thousand Indian Rupees. The value
of her services, the memories, our heritage. We had ditched our
Vespa!
I
was lying on the bed, immersed in thoughts that day. I had just been
taught a big lesson. That old things, useless things had to
be abandoned. But I am glad that I'm very bad at perceiving things
taught to me against my preformed principles because we are all getting older and older and one day we all become useless to even
ourselves.
- Ardhraprakash
(written in 2012)
