Sunday, 28 June 2009

The yellow roses

It was that day of the year again. I knew he would be waiting for me. Yellow had always been his favourite colour. He always brought yellow roses for me when he met me. And today, it was me who was taking them for him. It was raining heavily. We had loved rains. We held hands and walked in the downpour. He used to hold me tight when we laughed. My car’s tyre got punctured. But I had to give him the roses today. I take a bus. My raincoat is getting dirty because of the mud. But I take care that nothing happens to the roses. I hold them close to my heart. He helped me enjoy the beauty of the world. The bus halts and it is still a mile’s distance where he would be waiting, still waiting with great love and affection. I walk, I run, I want to be there as soon as I can. I finally reach him. I know he is still smiling. I lay the roses on my grandfather’s grave on his 75th birthday.