THE MIRROR

It was raining and everything was unclear to him. He drove the car forward towards the busy road. The other vehicles passing by the road seemed to be like participating in a 100m dash. He felt like they were not ready to let him and his car dissolve into their hurriedness.

He turned on the indicator and paused for a chance to drive away through the road. On the rear view mirror of his car, he saw a lady,his mother, stagnant on the veranda of that old age home. Her eyes were  filled with hope that her son will come back and take her with him. But, he never thought of doing that. He saw her bursting out to a silent cry. Even that hardly made him change his mind. Tears were rushing turbulently through her wrinkled face. They dropped down from her chin at very short intervals.

For a moment, he felt that it was her tears getting showered up on the windshield of his car. He realized the saline taste of those raindrops even if he couldn't taste it. But, what effect could be made by those drops on such hard surfaces like his heart!

The image of the crying lady hid out into the corner of the rear view mirror. More and more vehicles competed to capture the place of that lost piece of reflected image.

Although it was raining, he was sweating a lot. He turned on the air conditioner of his costly and modern car. Music flowed out of the audio player.

The annoying roar of the horns were feeble then and they were not strong enough to irritate him anymore. Still he looked as he was terribly irritated. The music was ineffective and it appeared to be nothing more than reflecting and rebounding sound waves.

She was a good singer- he remembered those countless nights he had slept deeply hearing her sweet voice. His father never scolded him as he cried out and complained against her in not singing for him. He failed to recollect a single day when she did not end up singing for her only son.

Once he loved his mother more than any son loved his mother. He cared his mother more than any son cared his mother. In reply, she tried, and almost succeeded in being an ideal mother. She brought him up giving utmost care and love. She educated him and he grew up into a wealthy, healthy engineer.

It was after his marriage that he started feeling his mother's sweet voice sound scratchy. What was the reason? Was that the sweeter voice of his wife? No one knows. Time in its course of flow, might heal all these wounds.

Rain had almost stopped. All that persisted was a sentimental silence. He lowered the side glasses of the car. The wind coming in through the window had a better chilling effect than that of the air conditioner of his car. The sound of horns pierced into his ears. “Who the hell is that?”, he looked on to the mirror.

The mirror had no violent vehicles in it, in fact, nothing other than an aged man, with his bald head and long beard. The old man had exactly the same eyes of him and he said, “Its me, you!”
                                                                                                                  TONY THOMAS