ONLY YOU
I’m Rajesh, retired from the State Bank of India. Now, with no duties to occupy me, my days are calm. My son and daughter are married, and they have adorable children who call me Grandpa. Like many retired Indian uncles, I spend my afternoons sitting in an armchair on my veranda. It’s the most comfortable spot in my home, offering a view of the bustling road in front. Watching young couples stroll hand in hand is my favorite pastime—not in a nosy way, but with admiration.
Each couple reminds me of my
"ONLY ONE"
I still remember the date: August 5, 1960. It was a rainy Friday morning in a typical government bank. The fans were making more noise than cooling, and large registers lay open on every desk since we didn’t have the luxury of computers.
It was nearly closing time when I heard a woman requesting the guard to let her in. In the mid-1960s, it was unusual to see a woman in a bank. Buried in calculations, I instructed the guard to allow her entry. As a punctual man, I often felt annoyed by tardiness, but before I could say anything, I saw her.
She stood before my desk, holding a black umbrella (still dripping with rainwater) in one hand and documents in the other. She wore a pink saree adorned with white flowers, her hair slightly wet but gracefully loose. Her face was alluring in its own way, exuding confidence and poise. Every employee in the room was captivated, and I was no exception.
Hanging her umbrella on her wrist and gently tucking back a strand of hair, she said, “I’m sorry, sir. I know I’m late, and it’s almost closing time, but this is urgent.” Clearing my throat to regain focus, I replied,
“It’s totally fine, ma’am.” She smiled like sunshine and said, “Here’s the cheque, sir. I’d like to withdraw 5,000 rupees.”
I took the cheque and saw the account holder’s name: ASHA BOSE.
A peon placed a glass of tea I’d ordered earlier on my desk.
Sipping the hot tea, I asked with concern, “Five thousand rupees is a large sum. Is it safe for you to travel with that amount? I don’t think it’s wise for a woman to carry so much.”
The bank grew quieter as the queue dwindled. With grace, she replied, “It’s totally fine, sir.”
After she left with the money, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I wanted to see her again, to talk to her, to be near her.
That longing was so real, unlike anything I’d ever felt. That night , I barely slept, my mind filled with thoughts of her, praying I’d meet her again under the moonlight.
Dear readers, do you think they will meet again?
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