As I made my way up that final slope I finally see that finish line. With all the energy left in me I try to give that one final push to the finish line, having a mental battle with myself, who seemed to have resorted to curses in addition to all the protest, muttering, wondering what exactly had gotten into me to have undertaken a challenge I don’t think I was capable of completing, a race route on kacha roads, almost trails at some parts, nut then your other side feeling that the scenic route and the challenge quite made up for it. But going too fast had led to cramping and muscle tightening (the pitfalls of assumed youth).
Limping, crawling, I finally made it across that finish line and proceeded to the cool down area for some help from the physio. Little did I know that my struggle and perseverance was being watched, was being noticed. As I arrive to the cool down area, I see a physio attending this gentleman with silver hair and a fluorescent tee (or another bright colour, it seems like age is catching up). He gestures to the physio to attend to me for which I am grateful and thank him for the kind gesture. He smiles and speaks in a hoarse voice. I assume that it was a sore throat, little did I know about his battle scars and how he came out a survivor, coming out a victor (after all he was from the Navy and the Navy makes them strong).
We weren’t friends then on FB but I could read his public posts. There was a certain kind of romantism in each every word, a passion, a fire, and at times a bit of melancholy. He was a romantic and found a way to romance and woo Life, and not just his wife. Those were beautiful prose, romantic lines, that drew you in with them.
I remember seeing him on the other side of the road during the VVMM, dancing to the beats of the dhol as it drummers played with gutso, as if bouyed by his enthusiasm. I shouted out hoping i could be heard over the beats of the dhol. He did hear it, as he later did mentioned it along with how the ladies loved his silver hair and showered him with more flowers. He was full of life, full of love.
On the last day of the same year, I decided to join my friends for a run, as it was closer to my workplace and it would be fun to run as a group. That day as I made my way through those inclines and declines, I saw him running steadily on the other side of the road in an attire that was bright and radiant as his personality, with his sipper in hand. We waved out to each other and exchanged warm smiles and continued on our respective runs. That day it seemed that we were destined to meet each other.
The following year we met each other at different races, cheered each other, clicked pics together, congratulated each other. I kept reading his posts, reading every single word, being inspired by it, admiring and respecting him even more. We once again met each other at the race where we first met each other but instead of tightened sore muscles we met with smiles and clicked pics.
Later that year during the inaugural promo run of the IDBI Federal Life Insurance Half Marathon, I asked him if I could have the honour to run with him (taking a page from a running diva). He tried to dissuade me saying that he would just slow me down but since I was having none of it I continued to run with him. It was indeed a pleasure and honour to run those kms with him. The next day I read his post, and what I read moved me, brought a smile, some tears, and made me feel blessed and grateful to know someone as wonderful as him.
The next few months I saw very little of him, both on social media and races. I learned from friends and fellow runners that that what had afflicted him before had returned again. This time around too he was fighting it bravely, not giving up on life, and this reflected in his posts, when he did post. But slowly and steadily the affliction seemed to be getting better of him.
When I finally found the courage to see him I couldn’t recognise the man who lay on that hospital. He nowhere looked like the man I knew and admired and looked up to, the man with the silver hair and fluorescent tee. I felt helplessly not really knowing what to say. I whispered a silent prayer and hoped for what was best for him. I finally got to meet the love of his life, the source of his romantism.
The next day got a message of his passing. Somehow there was a feeling of peace that I got to see him (though this wasn’t, wouldn’t, be the way I would remember him), and now he would be at peace, away from the pains of that which had afflicted him. Though earth may have lost a noble soul, heaven gained a romantic angel, the man with the silver hair and the fluorescent tee with those romantic words. I said a silent prayer thanking the gift that he was to us all.
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