"The Man at the Window"

I hadn’t seen Poppy for a week owing to the audit at work. So when he saw me walking down the road that evening he was pleasantly pleased, as was I. Owing to the rains the dust had settled down, there was a lovely cool breeze blowing. Poppy offered me hot aloo chops along with my tea today. The weather even made the cat lazy; it was huddled up and asleep in its basket, by the side of Poppy. Sipping on my tea, I noticed an old British style tin biscuit box on the window. Poppy saw that and opened the box. It was a box of old photographs. Poppy showed me the photos he had sent to Mary; on the back it was written “Love you forever”.   He also showed me a photograph of the two of them in Darjeeling. Poppy with his iconic Elvis side locks and Mary with her lovely long hair, both of them in their large framed goggles and bell bottom pants. The photographs were black and white but it had all the colors of love in there. They made a handsome couple. Poppy was off to the beautiful h...

I never could imagine Poppy as a romantic. Well, I guess I was in for a lot of surprises. He blushed and his eyes gleamed as he spoke about her. He spoke about her as if she was right there with him. So many questions passed through my mind but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to interrupt him. Mary finished school and immediately took up a secretarial course at the YWCA. She may have wanted to study further but had to get to work soon, to support her family. Her mother was the only earning member. Her father used to work too but of late it seemed he just wasn’t himself. Poppy described him as a wonderful man and an even better human being. Sadly though, the doctors had diagnosed him with early onset Alzheimer’s disease. Poppy recalled all the wonderful times they spent when he went to visit Mary. “It was sad to watch him losing himself”, he said. Mary finished her secretarial course and immediately started working. Poppy had finished his Senior Cambridge Exams and joined a very ...

Poppy invited me for lunch one Sunday and I happily obliged.   As I was walking to his house, I see Poppy walking out. He had just come back from church and was on his way to buy fish for the cat. I accompanied him to the market; it was entertaining to watch him bargain. Quite victorious on getting it for the price he wanted, we marched back home.   While his wife and the maid chatted away in the kitchen and prepared lunch, Poppy and I settled in with a peg of whiskey. I took a sip of my drink and watched him engrossed in his Sudoku . Even at 65, Poppy was a handsome man. I gathered courage from my whiskey and asked him how many girlfriends he had when he was younger. He put the Sudoku down and laughed heartily. “One” he answered. It was 1971 and after months of assiduous studying, it was finally time to party. Poppy had just finished his “Junior Cambridge Exams” or class ten “Boards”, as we refer to them today, and was all set to shake a leg at the “Social” organized a...

I ring the bell and as I wait for it to be opened, I hear the national anthem on the television. Poppy’s wife opens the door; I greet her and walk in. I see Poppy standing to attention looking at the television. He glares at me, as if ensuring I don’t sit or talk while the anthem is being sung. Once it was over he smiles at me and sits down. Today he was not at his usual place, the window. “The badminton is on and India is playing “he said. I nod and sit down. We watched the game and to Poppy’s satisfaction, India had won.   Poppy’s wife handed me a cup of tea, as we walked to the window. “I love watching live games” he said. Then he points at his face and shows me the scar on his eyebrow. Poppy’s father was 6.4 feet tall and had a towering personality. Needless to say he was “the” most influential person in Poppy’s life, even though he was not around as much as he would have liked. Poppy’s father used to box in his spare time and Poppy was his avid fan. He never missed a si...

It was a hectic day at work with audit season kicking in. I could really do with one of Poppy’s stories, I thought. Poppy had been unwell owning to the changing weather and untimely rain these days and I really hoped he was feeling better. With these thoughts in my mind I took the turn to Poppy’s lane and was delighted to hear him shouting out for his pet cat which had wandered off. It was story time today!! “How old were you when you started school?” Poppy questioned. “Four years” I answered. He nodded thoughtfully. Poppy was eleven years old when he finally got accepted into a missionary boarding school. Since he had never been to school he barely knew how to read or write. At eleven, he was still getting the hang of writing the alphabet and he had a long way to go especially because they has put him in class four owing to his age. He had a lot of catching up to do, a lot, being an understatement. Poppy was very eager to learn and it was this quality of his that his teachers a...

Poppy always welcomed me with a smile; quiet by nature it took some pursuing to get him to tell me his stories. As I settled in with a cup of tea, the pet cat hopped up on his lap and stared at him. She made herself comfortable almost as if she too was waiting to be transported to a different time. “It was 1962” he began, the family had moved to Calcutta. Now, given the British regime was over and their kind, not welcome, Poppy and his family faced a tough time finding a place to stay. After a lot of scouting, they found a one room house in what is called a basti in India. A basti is a slum and their house was just one roof away from being called a “shanty”, literally because it had a proper roof and not asbestos sheets like the others houses. He recalled his mother’s expression when she saw it. “Mother was brought up in a mansion, was chauffer driven around in the family Chevrolet and had butlers, maids and chaperones and to see her have to settle for a one room home was he...

On July 26, 1952, Poppy was born to an English couple, in a small town in Tamil Nadu, India. Being the youngest of seven children, you would assume he was spoilt but being a part of a large family in the post British Era of India was not as cushy as we would think. Poppy’s earliest memory was when he was five years old. His father was recently discharged from the English Army and was employed with a renowned company in the beautiful beach city of Waltair (now Visakhapatnam). They lived in a huge house opposite the beach and often his mother would take the family to visit an old German lady on an Island nearby, by ferry. “She was a queer old lady” he said, “Well, the word “queer” had a different connotation back then”, he added smiling. She lived in a mansion with only two German shepherd dogs for company. Poppy loved going to see the old lady. She would bake fresh German bread and cakes for them and then there was also the occasional British bread pudding, but more than the spre...

Hundreds had gathered to pay their respects on that cold winter evening, yet, “His “grave looked like a spring time garden in full bloom.   My eyes were full of tears and I smiled looking around me. “He” would be happy to know that he was remembered fondly and respected by many even though this moment was too late. His words rang in my ears, “Roses when I am alive, not on my grave” he would say. Alas, “the man at the window “had died. I still remember the first time I saw him, sitting at the window and watching the children play. I noticed him every day after that, that window - his eye to the world. Days and nights would pass, the neighbourhood changed, traffic would come and go, children would grow up and yet the man at the window remained, smiling that beautiful toothless smile on the world. His wrinkles spoke volumes about the ebb and flow of life, his eyes though sometimes distant, sparkled like a dimming star. And then, one day he waved at me and that was the begin...