The last fruit

Sometimes I get late to my office owing to waking up late, but on other days I am early or on time to catch the lonely bus to school.

On days that I come in early, I am always greeted by the pomerian dog on its early morning walk that pulls along the elderly gentleman on a daliy excercise ritual. The bells of the temple nearby ring in perfect replay each day like clock work. The voice of the flower and vegetable vendors are faint and hoarse from all the shouting in the early morning.

Then there is always my favourite passtime; just behind the bus stop there is a house , painted red and in one corner there is a small Gasgase tree.

The branches are over hanging and fall out of the house with a small pocket of canopy towards the road.And they bear fruit , little red berries that are sweet to taste and an absolute delight. When the branches are loaded with these fruits they hang lower. I am tempted to pluck a few and enjoy the free treat that mother nature gives us.

But there is just one problem. The house and the tree belongs to a very elderly gentleman who finds all his excercise in shooing away the men and women who pluck the fruits from his beloved tree.

To anyone who cares to listen, he explains in his grave tone; " I water the tree everyday, I nurture it with manure but everyone just plucks it off like it is their father's free gift."

At times I have tried to outsmart him and find myself a nice berry, all red and sweet, but like the sour grapes story I teach children at school it never happens.

When ever I almost have the prize in my hands, the old man comes in like a "berry hound" and gives me that stare akin to "Dare you to touch my tree". I am forced to move away with a sheepish expression on my face.
But the thrill of stealing a berry from under his nose is unparalleled.

It was another such random day when I was early to the bus stop. I had already made up my mind to have a field day today and make the most of the berries overhanging ; teasing me from ten days.

I got caught. The elderly man always had a scowl on his face. Today was no different. And he asked me ; " What do you want ?".
It was almost an accusation , but I could not help myself and I blurted out " I love the taste of these berries, i was just about to pluck a few ". I readied myself for the inevitable backlash.
But he looked back into the house and called reinforcements. I called all the gods and was about to encash my good grace when he called me in to the house and said, "take all the berries you want, this will be the last day you enjoy this opportunity."

There was a sense of acute sadness on his face. I had seen this person since ten years but I had never talked to him. Two men came and handed me around a hundred berries;all ripe and fruity smelling.

But his sense of sadness pulled me away and I looked at him and said thank you.

"It has been forty years in this locality. My sons and grandsons grew up in this house. We are moving away to an apartment that my son has brought. " Just then we heard the thuds from inside the house. "We havent even left the house yet but they have already started demolishing our house. This tree too shall be cut down. I have nurtured this tree for years but this tree will no longer be mine.Take all the berries you want. "

"So will you be moving I with your sons?" I quizzed.

He grew graver, " No no, they are all settled in the states and they need some one here to watch over their new apartment on the twenty third floor. There are no trees with overhanging branches he remarked.We are very much likely the free watchmen for the house.
We move tomorrow to my son's flat".

The berries though tasted wonderful. But it was the last time I saw the tree again. It was gone the next day.
The gentleman , the house, the tree, the berries.