The Dangler

It was after 15 years Yash was sitting with his grandfather relishing the memoirs of his childhood when someone intervened and prompted Grandpa to take the medicine. Yash was humble enough to stand up briskly and collect the dose from the drawer where Grandpa used to keep his essentials.

 While he was searching for the required he came across an unidentifiable piece of broken wooden object. The only thing he could resemble it with was the royal symbol of some ancient kingdom. Instantly he pulled it out and queried Grandpa to satisfy his cry of eagerness.

 He (Grandpa) took it on his palm, slid his fingers tenderly onto it and threw a subtle gentle smile. Yash was a little surprised at this pleasant gesture of his grandfather and insisted him to unfurl the panorama of thoughts curtained behind his mysterious romantic smile.

 Grandpa was, initially, a little hesitant in turning back the leaves of his adolescence but with repeated persuasion from the piece of his heart, he agreed to utter the piece of his mind.

 It was in his 10th standard, an inter school classical dance competition was organized in his school and he was one of the coordinators of the event responsible for the hospitality of the participants. And amongst the massive lot of participants there was a girl, from a nearby school, whose performance was very imminent while she was still messing up with her dress up. While her performance was being introduced she was still struggling backstage with one of her earring dangler, and suddenly it broke off from the thread it was tied to and she had to run up to the stage with the string of thread loosely hanging in her ear and the wooden block in her hand. She seemed concerned not to loose it, perhaps with an intention of getting it repaired later. Fortunately grandpa, in his full youth, stood amidst her pathway and all she could manage was  to handover the broken piece to him, giving a glimpse out of her  pleading eyes that asked for a mere few minutes custody of her valuable little asset. And that very glimpse brutally murdered the insights of young grandpa. He was spellbound by the spill of  perplexity on that young mademoiselles’ face, with long strands of slender silky hair often interlacing with the view port, adding fuel to the fire. And before she was done with her act, he had knelt to the charisma of her  serenity.

 “So you ran away with it, instead of telling her everything”, Grandpa was interrupted by Yash amidst the gushing stream of emotions pouring out of his heart.

“And you have kept it as a memento to remind you of hers even in this age. I don’t know how would grandma would have reacted to it if she was alive today”, he added with a hint of laughter following his statement and stood up to walk out for dinner. He seemed less interested in the aftermaths of the story as he had discovered the usual end to this octogenarian love tale.

At the dinner table he was served the porridge, one of his favourites that his grandmother used to prepare and he broke into tears falling into the reminiscences of her. He went straight into the hall where one of her portraits was hanged, stood in front of it, closed his eyes and prayed for the peace of her soul.

And when he opened his eyes, he was shocked, silent and still to what he had eyed. He peeped at it for minutes, gazed at it for minutes(m’aai’n’yutes) and a single tear trickled out of one his eyes.

The picture had her grandmother’s portrait flaunting a sumptuous grand lady, lavishly dressed with exotic jewels covering her skin but for a sole exception, and that was the broken wooden earring dangler hanging in one of her ears.  

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