The Cabuliwallah
Say this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper.Unfolding it with great care, he smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of little hand. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. Merely the impression of an ink_smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of the hand of his own little daugter he had carried always next to his heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta to sell his wares in the streets.
Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Cabuliwallah fruit
-seller, while I was_but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father.
That impression of the hand of his little Parvati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.
Viswa kavi...Sri Rabindranath Tagore.
Say this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper.Unfolding it with great care, he smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of little hand. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. Merely the impression of an ink_smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of the hand of his own little daugter he had carried always next to his heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta to sell his wares in the streets.
Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Cabuliwallah fruit
-seller, while I was_but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father.
That impression of the hand of his little Parvati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.
Viswa kavi...Sri Rabindranath Tagore.
1 comment:
its heart touching.
keep it up!
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