The Bench in The Park

It was an evening. It was like any other evening. The sun was not intense and the regular 5’o clock was strolling around. People walked without talking too much to each other. The half smile and the nod were the common way of acknowledge acquaintance. The people had too much time left after attending to the needs of life and too many thoughts. It was, like any other, the evening of the has-beens and the under-achievers.

It was a bench in the park. It was like any other bench. And it had designate people occupying it when it was time. Everything in the park did; benches, tree shades, walkways; it all had certain people in them at certain time. It was like pieces in a puzzle. Anybody out of place would topple the equilibrium. The bench under consideration belonged to a man in his mid-30s and another in his late-60s. They would greet each other with the customary smile and nod. But they never talked. Yet they were profoundly happy to share benches. It’s not everyday that you meet people with whom you could comfortably share silence.

And during these periods of silence, they observed other people in the park and even made stories about these people to themselves. Clothes and at times facial expressions constituted the foundation upon which they build their stories. And they did enjoy the craft of coming up with stories out of the bleakest of evidence, of people they have never talked to, or knew, however, the bench mates never made stories of each other. It was probably because both were dressed in the in the same manner everyday. The young man was attired in formals, neat but not extravagant. A plain, light coloured, full sleeve shirt, dark trousers, and black flat front shoes were his clothes. The older guy had evening clothes. The clothes he wore were so indistinguishably precise that any one who saw him two different days would have mistaken him for a military man. They never made stories of each other because everyday; it was the same old story.

And then the eventful day struck. It was probably the 24 hour strike down but the equilibrium of the park was thrown out of balance. There were fewer people at the park. It was like a huge vacuum created within a crowd. You always expect people to be there but there in not. And this was the picture the semi-deserted park bore. But not the bench under consideration. At the atoned time, it had its occupants. Their greeting contained not the least of hint that their life had taken the slightest of deviation from the normal. But the realization struck once they scanned the perimeter of the park. They had no subjects for story today.

Young man thinks: The deserted park…not good. There goes my day to ruins…

Old Guy thinks: …and I ‘eve been preparing for this the whole day….

YM: it takes a lot to act normal. I pull that act all day here and I know how tough it is…

OG: to think that you are just like everyone, engrossed in your life, and definitely moving forward…

YM: and now, I’ve lost the only thing I look forward to…

OG: …all because of this ridiculous strike down, what was it for anyway? Something like…

YM:… the government policies not letting people live their normal life or something…

OG: well, that used to be normal time…

YM: and this definitely is not.

OG: Now, all I have is this man of insipid dress sense

YM: and the old bloke who dresses the same way everyday could hardly be of any interest…

They both drift to memories that they have of each other…

YM: unless he used to be someone in the military who’s heard got royally screwed so much so that he can’t even contemplate changing the way he dresses…

OG: well, you can’t expect anyone who has been in the corporate world to have any real dress sense. They just ape each other and look stupider than the rest

YM: and may be I am just a part of his clock work world…imagine.. he might not be able to sleep properly if he does not meet me in the bench…

OG: and that explains why he sits in this bench. I might be the only inspiringly different piece that he meets in his life.

YM: I have not noticed if he frowns while he sits in this bench. All military men are hard and easily scorns upon the slightest of disorientation from the normal way.

OG: but I am not sure if I’ve seen him smirk, he could think I am dressed like a WW II war hero… or may be think that I start dressing up for the evening stroll at afternoon just because it’s the only thing for me to look forward.

YM: after all managing and delegating duties on large scale data handling services for multi national companies, although sounds complicated is mundane, monotonous and so unlike the “real man” things that people at the army claim they do

OG: or can he tell someone who has been in service for a ling time and yet has nothing special to claim, may be that is something that these high aspiring young men will laugh at is it?

YM: Does this man sit next to me every evening so that he can make his life full of “bravery and valour” a special one? Because if its so, he couldn’t find a better person to sit next to.

OG: He may consider me an amusing piece of antique?

YM: I am not…

OG: …his laughing stock, am I…

YM: …or am I…

OG:…as ridiculous as he thinks I am?

They met again in the park the following days, but their greeting was a bit more tightly lipped and strained. The shifted uneasily in the bench while they were there and sometimes left early. Soon, the bench under consideration was looking for new occupants.