Indifferent

By Eswar Tavva

Indifferent (adjective), Oxford dictionary meaning: Having no particular interest or sympathy; unconcerned.

As the sky turned into shades of orange and red, the day started inching towards twilight. A 26-year-old, medium-height, neatly dressed guy carrying a satchel in his hand had just dismounted from a city bus near one of the beautiful parks in the city. His medium height was accentuated by the play of shadows on his neatly dressed attire. He moved through the crowd, his eyes fixed solely on the ticket counter ahead. People laughed and chatted around him, and vendors called out their wares, but none of it fazed him or drew his attention from his goal. His hand barely hesitated as he passed over the crumpled notes for a single entrance ticket. After purchasing the entrance ticket, he swiftly entered the park. Upon entering, his eyes darted around the space, instinctively seeking out a quiet corner away from the crowd. His eyes turned keen, now absorbing every detail of the park. His gaze landed on a mix of individuals; towering figures casting long shadows, others scarcely reaching his shoulder level. A vibrant palette of skin tones caught his eye—some fair like freshly bloomed jasmines, others dark as the rich night sky. Pairs intertwined in comfortable familiarity, single souls bobbing like lonesome islands amidst the sea of chatter, familial clusters buzzing with shared laughter. A range of emotions painted the park’s canvas—faces illuminated in joyous laughter contrasted by sunken eyes shadowed with an unspoken sadness. His eyes roved around the park, scanning for an unoccupied bench. Most of them were occupied by young couples, even those in school uniforms. At last, his eyes settled on an empty bench tucked away under a sprawling tree. Carefully navigating around stray leaves and twigs, he lowered himself onto the wooden bench and positioned his satchel securely next to him. His gaze travelled upward, getting lost in the vast expanse of the rapidly darkening sky. After a while, a wetness traced the line of his cheek, blurring his vision - one drop from his left eye followed by another from his right eye His cheeks grew wetter as the drops fell more frequently, yet he made no attempt to wipe them away; he simply let them flow.

Across from him, a pair of fresh-faced newlyweds glanced his way, their eyebrows did a little dance of surprise, wiggling and wincing at the unexpected tears on his face. The young man exchanged a glance with his partner before leaning in close to her. Instantly, the man blurted out, "Look at this darling! A man shedding tears?" His statement bore the unspoken assumption that men were born with inherent grit, as if their first breath was taken in rhythm with Eminem's rap songs rather than cries – it was an ideology he proudly wore. "Let’s ignore it," quickly countered the woman flicking her gaze away from the crying man to more appealing sights around them.

As he wiped away his first tear, another promptly took its place, trailing down his cheek unhindered. Some distance away from him, a group of girls were enjoying the beauty of the park. One girl nudged another, pointing in his direction as she tried to throttle her laughter. "Look! He's shedding tears in public. Doesn't he feel shy?"  one of them remarked, her voice dripping with judgment. "Maybe his girl ditched him!" Suggested another, her tone laced with humour, provoking a chorus of laughter. This incident perfectly embodies the new saying, 'You should feel shy while shedding tears, no matter how painful your misery is.' These girls seemed to fancy themselves as telepathists, peering into his past and predicting his future. After having their fill of amusement at his expense, they walked away, leaving behind the fading echoes of their laughter.

Tears ran down his face in steady streams now, the droplets glistening on the back of his hand as he tried to wipe them away. His chest heaved with silent sobs, a gasp escaping his lips every now and then. At that moment, a lady and gentleman with their child approached a nearby bench to sit on it. Catching sight of the man's tears, the little boy's eyes widened, and he tugged at his mother's hand before exclaiming, "Mummy! Why is that uncle crying?" The mother quickly muted the child and said, "Don't look at him," her eyes darting nervously towards the crying man before she sent a silent signal to her husband. With a small nod of understanding, he steered them away from the scene. 

At last, a child who displayed genuine care for him appeared. However, I wonder what other good habits their parents were going to teach them apart from showing concern for others; the quote 'charity begins at home' was being upheld very well.

Tears streamed down his face unabated, soaking his shirt as sobs racked his body. Many people walked past him: some mocked him, some made fun of him, and others passed by with indifferent comments. But no tall man or short man questioned, "Hey buddy! Are you alright?" No fair girl or dark girl inquired, "Hey man! Is everything fine?" Couples wrapped in each other's arms and singles walking with purpose all glanced his way, but none offered any assistance or kind words. No one asked if there was anything they could do to aid him.

In the end, his tears, like a passing storm, yielded to the calmness within. He unfurled a water bottle from his satchel, washing away the remnants of his emotional downpour. The handkerchief, a gentle companion, joined in the ritual of wiping the slate clean. With his satchel in hand, he left the park, stepping onto a city bus that mirrored the relentless pace of society. As he disappeared into the rhythm of urban transit, I pondered the question: Is he truly indifferent, or is it that society, like an ignorant bystander, remains indifferent to the silent storms brewing within him?

His tears, a cryptic language spoken by the heart, whispered tales of unseen battles. I didn't know why he was crying. I had no slightest idea about his agony; a story etched in the invisible ink of his soul. Yet, the belief persisted—beneath the cloak of indifference, a reservoir of human vulnerability thrived. We are all custodians of unspoken pain, where tears flow unbidden, each drop a metaphor for the collective human experience. Perhaps, in the silent symphony of our shared tears, lies the paradox of our indifference, echoing the profound truth that we all cry, sometimes for reasons known only to the soul.

By Eswar Tavva