Aching bones greeted Nitin every morning. Life had come full circle he felt as the inevitable of leaving the world was round the corner. He just knew it and every morning used to heave a sigh of relief that he is alive for one more day. Grey hair, wrinkles and a bony frame summed Nitin. To stay fit he usually left the bed at dawn. The walking stick gifted by his bestie Yousuf acted as the best companion for his morning walk. The mist, pleasant weather and lush greenery filled his lungs with life. Often he smiled at the visuals life threw at him. Children half asleep half awake rushing to their respective schools energised him. The road looked peaceful and fresh after the sweeper did his bit. Tea sellers offered him tea but he politely refused most of the time. Traffic added to the noise always but it felt good. 

Silence decorated his one room abode. He never married as he never felt the need. Music had his heart. Yousuf Ali had died when Nitin was only thirty years old. Even today it was all so unforgettable. In a fit of euphoria Nitin visited Yousaf after he learnt that his best chum was engaged to his childhood sweetheart Afsha. They had great fun while planning for his wedding too. Yousuf had to travel to Bengaluru, the silicon valley of India, to submit a project the next day but that next day never came. Yousuf passed away in his sleep, shocking everybody. It was a massive heart attack. Yousuf was a Muslim but he was a heavy drinker too. The booze got him and all dreams went down the drain. Life had no meaning for Nitin. He blamed God for this too. 

Nitin was an orphan. He was raised by the caretaker of the mosque that stood in Yousuf’s vicinity. Mosque visit was a regular thing for Yousuf and a chance bumping into Nitin went a long way and in no time Yousuf became his go to person for everything. It was tough for Nitin to cope when his dear friend was snatched from him so brutally. Yousuf, a fine gentleman, otherwise won hearts by his mystifying personality. He had the gift of the gab and helped people selflessly. His only vice was being addicted to alcohol and that changed the dynamics completely. He was tall, dark and handsome but too flippant in the matters of the heart. Never a steady girlfriend he had but friendship with Nitin meant the world for him and vice versa.

Things would have been so different had Yousuf been alive. This separation of forty years flat was killing him. At 72, Nitin mostly lived in a happy space for the world to see. He was happy but majorly dead from within. A helper for everyone but when he needed helping he felt it was only God he could vent to. The room he stayed in had enough space for a bed, a stool, chair, table and a small cupboard. A single window was his conversation with nature and humanity. He used the public loo for maintaining his cleanliness as the railway station was nearby. Sometimes he was a porter, sometimes a labourer, sometimes a mason, sometimes a delivery man, sometimes a painter and sometimes a good samaritan of the world. 70 years just rolled playing diverse roles. 

Diwali 2023 was yet another feather in his cap of selfless giving. The festival of lights illuminated every corner of his lovable den as well as people who celebrated. People who did not celebrate for some reason got his tender loving care. He wasn’t the Pied Piper of his area but dull aching souls rejoiced in his wisdom, experiences and reality bites. An elderly man like him was an inspiration as well as reason for ridicule. He wasn’t a trendsetter but unintentionally became one. Old, single, friendly yet aloof when he wanted to be somehow attracted attention. People who were the same age acted weirdly around him. Instead of being miserable he chose to be happy. Jealousy burned within his age-group not because he embraced life as it came but because they couldn’t do the same in spite of having all. 

One fine November night, wind was fanning his grey strands, his chest developed a tight knot and breathing was labored. He was sweating profusely. A little chill had gripped him. Speech was slurred, confusion stepped in. A stroke he felt will become the medium of his exit. In spite of this state he felt someone was knocking at his door. The knocking was too faint thanks to his condition. There was a loss of vision too but he could see Yousuf clearly, stretching out his hand as if asking to hold it. His joys doubled as finally the meet-up is going to happen in due time. How he waited for this only he knew. A feeling that in the last moments of his life he would be able to reunite with his departed friend was finally coming true.

His effortless smile had a witness in the form of a 15 year old boy who had entered his abode unannounced. Nitin’s condition slowly improved and vision was restored. The knot in his chest had disappeared it seems. His body started getting warmer. Normal breathing returned. It was not the time yet he ascertained in no time. Gathering his senses he darted a question to the mysterious lad.

‘Are you looking for someone?’, asked Nitin.

‘Yes, I am looking for Tin, my long lost friend,’ answered the mysterious lad.

Tin rang a bell for Nitin. This addressal was so close to heart yet no one called him by that name except Yousuf. Yousuf had long gone then who is this.

‘Do you remember anything else beside the name you just said,’ questioned Nitin. 

‘Yes, I remember a lot more than his name. Tin hates it when I booze around. Still I am his go to person and he is mine for the same. Tin and I are very thick but I just don’t seem to understand where and when we went our separate ways. I have been looking for him all these years but when I saw your door ajar I just couldn’t stop myself from entering. I hope you don’t mind that I just barged in but I am at ease as I saw you and I feel that you are Tin,’ added the mystery filled lad. 

‘Anything else you want to add here,’ Nitin asked in sudden disbelief. 

‘Tin has a birthmark. He has a deep cut on his inner thigh as a speedy motorbike had run over him when he was just twelve,’ concluded the lad.

Nitin couldn’t believe whatever he had just heard. Indeed this was Yousuf but in a different avatar. He had returned but in a different guise. His joy had no words. This was a mini miracle. God wasn’t that ruthless by sending back Yousuf in the form of this lad of 15 years. 

‘I am Tin, your long lost friend but we are so different yet a common thread binds us.’ a joyful Nitin said. 

It was all so very confusing for Brian, the mysterious lad. A sense of familiarity oozed from the man whose house he had just entered and the place gave him a sense of a home he was looking for all this while. Tin had been his home and he felt he had finally arrived where he belonged. He introduced himself and raked his brain to unlock the puzzle that the universe had thrown at him in the form of this aging man. There was so much to talk about yet everything was so surreal. For Nitin on the contrary a new verve had descended on him. He was numb with ecstacy. The boy was on the threshold for newer experiences and visuals and Nitin was on his last journey of life where this unexpected miracle happened. Brian was actually Yousuf with selective memory. 

‘Come let’s join our hands in gratitude and walk the path. We have to cover a lot of distance and refill the blanks with real stories involving our lives while we were apart oh little brother oh my long lost friend. You don’t even know how it felt while you were away. I want to hold on tight and restart what was always meant to be,’ concluded Nitin. 

Brian tiptoed and jumped to sit in Nitin’s lap. He was clueless at first but later was understanding the trajectory of God’s doing. Pure emotions lead to wonders. It was indeed a wonderful change of events. Brian was on a winter break and while travelling he had missed his train. While exploring the area he saw the house from the railway station and just couldn’t stop himself from getting drawn to it. The missing link of his travelling finally had been found unknowingly.