On my way to College, I was letting my shoes to be polished, so that it can shine like Humjayga’s shoes. A three years old child tugged at my overcoat which has one button missing. I looked at boy with genuine smile. His mother came running to this child and chided, “naughty Sanju, let go off uncle.’’
Did she just call me uncle? Yes, she did!! She did, yes! I feel my jaws and felt hair sprouting out like natural vegatation.Probably, I have become old enough to be called uncle, I lamented. Anyway, I paid my bill to cobbler. With one sheepish ogling at mother of that cute boy, I was on my own way.
I was still muling over the idea and sense of being old. I don’t want to get old. I wish my age stops growing. I wish Dangpa Losar(bhutanese new year) come slowly. Step by step, I feel like walking towards Ajang Death.
Damn! This eye-less indian idiot, I cursed in my native tongue becausesomebody bumped into me carelessly while I was thinking. “Sorry Uncle,’’ I heard the voice.Uncle again,eh!! I thought. I looked at the owner of voice and noticed that she was girl around fifteen years, the girl I would like to propose(hadn’t that age legally minor). The word uncle stung me like bee’s sting.
Just to checked if I had grown so much in a night, I furtively looked into mirror of roadside Barber. Barber was young but overgrown boy. “Uncle, baal cut na hai kyai,’ he asked me. Irritated to core, I walked away leaving him looking at me confused.
After five minutes, my annoyance cool off. I laughed at myself thinking what will they call me in next 10 years. I imagine myself talking my future wife. “well,darling who is bald man near you in the photo?’’ I imagine my wife replying, “ darling, you are getting old. The bald man is you.’’