One night, on his watch, Banshilal Chaukidar looked at the moon and remembered when he had been a little boy her mother had often compared him with it.
“I was damn handsome then.” he thought.
“But now I am not,’ he sighed.
‘Now I am a night guard for a housing full of real-estate crooks, teachers and bad-tempered government officers. I have diabetes and a tremor in hand and I am old. But I don’t have a permission to sleep- not even when my body gives up in exhaustion and my mind starts to play funny tricks on me. I wish my mother had seen me now. She would have thought twenty times before comparing me again with something so bright and faultless.”
Banshilal concluded while he tried to tame his hand.
An unexpected thought came to him after a while.
He thought, “Even if my future had been known to her surely she couldn’t have told me. I was a happy thing that happened to her and for that she would have willingly lied to me. Just to remain cheerful for both of us.
May be she was more helpless than I thought.”
Looking at that silent, magnificent, yellowish globule Banshilal began to laugh.