From East with Glory

This shortstory won Second place in London Newham Short story competition.

Even though crowd least attracts my attention I imperturbably stooped over the euphoric crowd, just outside Stratford Tube station, to take a peek at the performance of some Mali musicians. Yeah, yeah the day was sunny, green grass, blue sky, smiling face and all that. Well, it could even be some morose Javanese players.

Watchers are always repelled in my group. I remember my Commandant, in one of smacking-newbie session, shouting, with camp-fire behind him – "Smith, everyone is either a doer or bystander. Unfortunately in this part of the world, as in any war field, we are both". Now I can answer him: "The watchers around me at the least tapping their feet for these musicians; but I never know who conducts me, Sir! "

Dragging my legs with crutches, I walked slowly towards the Stratford Shopping Centre, thinking at the same time - Don’t we all busk at our importunate platforms?

That’s the same answer I’m going to give my dad - "I’m back for good, to be a bystander, just like you". It’s just been eight years since I left this place to Iraq but, just a glace tells me I’ve been out hundred years. Jeez, the shopping centre bars any view of the docks or my house from the station. We used to run from my house near West Ham Lane, mothers, at our back, shouting: Don’t jump over the stones; not close to the grid; we’re watching you, no pushing - till we reach the Stratford station. Evenings, swinging from the green conical tree in the garden, watching the trams picking speed, we would play trampoline. How can one do that now?

It’s really hard to think that dad, once a junior caretaker with Trebor Sharpe, having made jobless twice in the same locality, still likes to stay in this place. I still remember the day, along with my juvenile neighbourhood friends, we ran to the Royal Docks to look at the big cradle of machineries brought in from every other corner of the country. In the evening, back home, the mood was yellow and dad murmured that the sweet factory has closed down. I hated change and the docks.

Reliving the childhood is impossible, now that the house is hidden behind towering constructions; the likes of shopping centre and glossy apartments. Do we still have any air left to breathe?

I do not want to step into the shopping centre but am surprised to find a disabled entrance. Ah! This is new and did not see when I left for force in early ‘90s - sure we haven’t lost something, what’s that, yes, c.sense in this part of the city.

Couple of retail stores, candy outlets, something to fit from ‘head to toe’ shops – all under one roof is definitely new dream come reality for this locality. To say, my dad lost his jobs to one such dream, is not an exaggeration.

The day I decided to join forces, the house turned all yellowy ‘again to mourn his second job loss. Yes, Home candy’s sweet maker was again jobless, turning life to sour.

Boorish market and ‘90s misfortunes landed straight to dad. Dad walks to his store, manager said: We’re done. Sweets & Brothers open round the station corner. Two floors full of smelly, tasty candy. We sold. Pack some sweets home, will ‘ya?

Still he stayed put. My mother removed the ‘Visit Enchanting Europe in 15 days’ pamphlet from the shelf. Being a perfectionist, smallest of her moves would fill in for longest sermons. She removed the Eiffel tower fridge magnet, which she has been holding to replace after her first trip, marking an end to further discussions.

‘Oops! Sorry. ‘You alright’ – the 10 year old girl picked her ball that hit my crutches. I was on the floor and towering over my bag. She lifted my crutches.

I felt embarrassed tripping over a ball right in front of the Shoe Zone. I should have looked in front, than starring at the shops all around me.

‘Please, sit down’ she said, literally holding me to the seats in the middle of the shopping centre. Next to me was some performance by Bangladeshi crowd. I almost said - It sure is lovely crowd in here.

‘I work here. Do wait until I get you something to drink’ – That’s when I noticed she was limping towards the sign post ‘Everybody can work’ and I see game shows organised for elderly.

‘I work here part time and the council has pooled in lot of money to improve this locality. Olympics is also round the corner and I’m sure to fill all my spare time for pleasure and some money’ – she winked, after handing over a big plastic cup of refreshing orange juice.

I remember my dads’ friends whining after the Sunday mass – ‘It’s quite easy to run government here; eliminate the oldies and restrict the young. And all they have is to worry about the tax payers’.

‘I’m sure times are changing, sir, my mother 80 year old is working in one of the stores, there with the red board. She is independent and so am I’ – She sure has read my thoughts. I could clearly see the dramatic changes in this side of the City.

I started walking to the other end of the shopping centre, through the Burger King, to bright sunny day, into the Tram lane, next to the Council building, giving football fans their space, watchful of the King George Pub I went after our first win at the school football match and finally marching into my home.

I’m sure dad would be off to work and my mum would be fixing her Venetian Gondola souvenirs religiously next to her Eiffel tower fridge magnet.

When dad comes home that evening, I shall tell him – ‘Look dad, I’m back as a doer and I can participate in the change to glory.’

Comments

[MoonaHaw]

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