A humming word

/wrote it for a friend's birthday/ He stood by the courtyard of his storied house surrounded by the canopy of trees He looked around awaiting and watched the hawkers carry their baskets of greens Their tanned torso was their kameez and kutcha roads were now a sole of their shoes from the pit of their empty stomachs, they yodeled, sang, screamed to sell their produce. He dipped his finger to check its warmth of the milk bowl that he had placed on the ground His eyes moved from one corner to the other – from the bakery wallahs to the huge bins, round Yikes, he hated when the milk turned cold and the broken stems and leaves garnished it Still there was no sight of his mate; his legs grew tired and sweaty with no place to sit, Finally, like a beacon of hope, his friend came running towards him His green eyes shone brighter in the sun though its brown-and-white coat Was greasy and shoddy; an endearing charm, like a jersey, he did sport His frown vanished ...

There are few stories that move you to tears and Kabuliwalla by Tagore is one such story. Though the story has only three characters: Mini, the father (the narrator), and Kabuliwalla, it will inch into your heart and move you, deeply. Is it the picture painted by Tagore? The same way that Mini's father is transported to Afghanistan listening to the mere word. So, are we transported. The autumn, the gate, the nuts, and the innocent friendship between Mini and Kabuliwalla. The story is simple: A hawker who visits several houses, meets a young scared girl and slowly forms a perfectly saccharine bond with her. As she talks to the Kabuliwalla and he becomes an enthusiastic listener, you become a mute observer on the porch of Mini's house and wait for the mighty Afghan too. But things slowly take a turn and soon, the Kabuliwala is forgotten till he returns years later. If you haven't read it, I'd nudge you to. After all, a perfect story is one that you live and relive an...