“Beautiful, isn’t it? Isn’t it so wonderfully designed that it kind of conveys nearly everything that happened on that unfortunate evening?
“emm, I am not really sure. My idea of a memorial is one where in you look at something which has a direct resemblance to the person/place/object or time. You cannot have a new structure and call it a memorial. Not in my idea, atleast.”
“By your definition, half of world’s memorials will stand invalid”
“Hehe, yeah! Anyways, my understanding of the world is way skewed and half of the things I wish are anyways invalid for everyone around me.”
She smiled. No. Kind of laughed, but then that was all. My comic timing was not better yet.
Wait, I wasn’t making a comic comment, was I?
They both stood infront of the grand war memorial that was built in remembrance of the 27 brave folks who could save the city from the big fire. Hand in hand, they moved around the memorial and then sat back across the plaza near the fountain. Things were different back then.
4 years later, he sat working on his office workstation. Just a little tired from the long 2 days of work, he opened up his Facebook only to see a post he made 3 years back.
“The face of it is very depressing. Death is depressing and so is the love of it”
The sudden flash of the night, the dark room and the carmine shaded bulb in his room, the damp walls and the mildew on the curtains – all made a round in his head. What has he come through? Between that evening at the memorial and today’s shiny office tables, there was a trough – a very deep and steep one for that matter. He had little hope, he would make it through. The rat poison was strong, they said. He was just a couple of inches away.
What stopped him?
A set of stationery on his table – a memoir of his past. What after he was done for what he scheduled for himself tonight? Will there be a memorial in his name? Is he worth it? Was she worth it? Is her memoir her memorial too? Something which he can look up to?
A pen- a small sachet of coffee and a candy wrapper – and all of these made for him the best memorial of his life.
Always Ranting,
Rantzaada.
The 11 o' clock diary 