When souls drift - Part 2

It was raining heavily in both the places; outside the car and inside Raj. He sped as if he was eager to meet his death in a road accident. The tires screeched and so did his heart. Calmly he looked at the newspaper which was lying on the adjacent seat. The car came to a sudden halt in such a way that a huge truck almost crashed into it. Unperturbed by the other vehicles passing by, Raj looked at his father’s picture in the headlines of ‘The Times Of India’. All he asked looking at the picture was “Why dad…why! Why did you do this?”

Without caring about the torrential rains he stepped out of the car. His lavish clothes were drenched in no time. In the rains it is always easy to cry like a baby. No one to notice; except you!

“Excuse me…” He asked this to a passerby who was in a great hurry to reach his home. Even after holding the umbrella, the old man was drenched in the rainwater.

“Where is Shantikunj Apartment?”

The old fellow pointed to an old building across the street and walked away. Even after being such a huge celebrity, his entire appearance covered his true identity. The old man’s mind did try to travel back in time and was trying to figure out the identity of the handsome yet worn-out face. He gave up in a few seconds and hurried in the opposite direction. Raj was totally unaware of whatever place he was in. Never ever, in his entire life, had he seen this part of the city. The roads had seen tar at least 5 years ago. Grocery shops, fruit vendors, vegetable stalls, cattle and numerous parked two wheelers completed the whole

scene. Raj’s Mercedes had become an issue of great wonder for all the vagabonds of the alley. He himself looked like a total misplaced thing in the small world of that middle class geography. The road had very few vehicles. He crossed the road and entered the creaky gates of the “Shantikunj Apt.”.

The rusty board on the building could barely tell the location of its residents. Raj narrowed his eyes and in the heavy rains his eyes started descending the list of people. Suddenly at the third floor he fixated on a name and muttered to himself,

“Flat number 16…A-Wing…Sanjeev Joshi”