The Man at the Window - 1

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 beginning of a timeless friendship between “Poppy” (as I had fondly begun calling him) and me. Not a day went by thereafter when I would not stop by for hours of chitchat, listening to stories of his days of glory, his heartbreaks and victories. His eyes shone as he spoke about the things he loved and lost and I promised myself that it wouldn’t be the last time anyone heard the story of “the man at the window”.

The story of a man, who lived bravely and loved fiercely, who never threw in the towel no matter how tough the fight got!!

Simply put in the words of Shakespeare,   “He was a man; take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.”