The Old Man and The Stick

I walked home with Papa tonight. I was getting back home from work and he had gone out to catch up with his friends some time in the evening. It was past 7 at night when he called me and asked when was I returning home. I was about to leave work (my workplace is at Gyaneswor). And I told him the same. Papa said he’d wait for me at Soalteemode (we live at Kalanki). A part of me wanted to question why he said he’d wait there instead of going home and resting. But a bigger part of me wanted Papa to stay there and walk home with me because I had had a long day and it had been ages since we’d both had a conversation, let alone walked together.

I got off the tiny blue micro at the stop and there I saw Papa standing really close to the railings on the sidewalk with a small bag of groceries on one hand and a white walking stick on the other. Papa didn’t need a walking stick. Maybe, it was just me seeing things because I was drowsy. Papa didn’t need a walking stick. He stayed home often and rarely went out for long. Papa didn’t need a walking stick. I have always been his walking partner. Why’d he bother with another one? But I wasn't seeing things. I wasn’t too drowsy to start seeing things in the dark. There was Papa, my old man, and his walking stick.

I slowly walked up to Papa. “Hi, Papa! Did I made you wait for too long?,” I asked. “I have been waiting for almost 20 minutes, I think. Did you buy yourself a ukulele without letting me know?,” he replied. I had borrowed it from a friend and I told him the same. I took the grocery bag from his hand and held on to his hand. We walked a few steps and I asked him when did he get that stick. I must have sounded hurt, Papa stopped walking for a moment and said it had been a week or so. A week. And I had no clue. “I got this walking stick from a shop in Tripureshwor. I have started visiting a few places and meeting people now, Naanu. It gets a bit difficult at times. If I happen to fall somehow, things might get a bit complicated. I am only assuming this stick will prevent the falls,” Papa said in a soft whisper.

We both keep walking. The road is a bit steep. My shoulders are a bit tired and home is still more than 10 minutes away. I can feel Papa’s fingers wrap tightly on my right hand. My fingers are almost numb. If it was bright enough, maybe Papa would see my fingers turning white and ask if he was holding on too tight. I would have probably told him had it been some other day. But a voice in my head said: “Right now, Papa cares less about the walking stick on his right hand. He is holding onto you for support, just like old times.” Doesn’t make much sense, does it? But it did to me. So, I let it be. Papa asked me how my day went and when would I actually start coming home at least a bit early so that we could work a bit in the garden or at least see the sun set. I give a small smile but the streetlights here do not really function. “I will try my best. I am not really sure. But maybe tomorrow?,” I tell him.