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A son is a son…

When life becomes routine and boring, I think of new devices. Once, in the middle of the night, I decided to hitch hike all the way home.
Two walks and one hitchhike later, I was stranded along with a group of complete strangers who seemed to have missed their last mode of transport.
I noticed a frail old man, bent by the burden of at least seventy to eighty years, waiting for a bus. I heard his cellphone ring and he answered his whereabouts, probably to a family member. Or maybe they just called to know whether he still existed or not. The phone disconnected while he had just begun to explain.
I enquired and he told me that his wait was almost an hour long. We decided to share a rickshaw till home. He had retired from TCS and had three or four sons all well settled in affluent areas of Mumbai and Pune. He was sharp enough to trace my origin accurately through my accent, in spite of the fact that I was conversing in his native, quite fluently. He still worked for his living and ate once in a day to stay healthy. He stayed with his daughter and I did not ask him why.
As my destination neared, I quietly palmed a currency note into his hand, shook it and wished him good-bye. He thanked me and wished me back, saying that he was very happy to meet me.
One more journey, one more story.

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