The Guy From Street No:63

“Excuse me, I am looking for this guy. I don’t know his name, they call him ‘the guy from street number 63’” - I asked the shopkeeper.

“Oh, sure. He lives here” – he replied.

“Sir, can you tell me the house number or the direction” – I tried to get some more precise information.

“No, no, no, no, no, you didn’t understand he lives here, on the street no. 63. That’s why they call him so. He comes around 11 at night and leaves by 4 am. No one knows where he goes, what he does. He never talks to anyone. At first we thought he is dumb and deaf but later we heard him sing a few times. He wears good clothes, looks like a fairly earning person. I don’t know why the hell he lives on the street. No one dares to ask and if somebody does, he just smiles and walks away.” – explained the shopkeeper.

I looked at my watch. It was around 5 in the evening. I decided to wait. Oops, I forgot my name is Ameera. I am 26. I live in the city nearby with my mother. I have never known who my dad is. It was my mom who played both dad and mom in my life. I always asked her about him and every time she said I will tell you when the time comes until the day when she died. And all she could tell while taking her last breath was “Street no. 63 “ .

I searched a lot on the internet, asked many people but never got what it meant. Finally, while I was travelling by train I heard about the this person who is called ‘The guy from street no- 63’ from a co-passenger during a random chit-chat. I couldn’t stop myself from coming here. May be this person can tell me who my dad is? May be I can see my dad finally.

“I will keep the lights on “ – said the shopkeeper while closing the shop. It was almost 11. I was getting restless to see him. A lot of questions, I needed to be answered. The most important one, Can he at all answer them? Am I really going to know who my dad is? Will he recognise me? What is his name ? Where do he lives? Why didn’t he show up even once in so many years?

The sound of someone’s footsteps interrupted my thoughts. I looked towards the street and saw a man, must be 30, 35 at most, walking towards the tree by the side of the street. He sat there.

I couldn’t stop myself from running to him. I said – “Hello”. He didn’t respond. I tried few more times , he didn’t react at all. Then I kind of screamed.

And, he looked at me. I could see his eyes and tell that he knows me. May be because I look like my mom. He was stunned, like he has been waiting to see me from years. And he was speechless, like he has finally got something much awaited and desperately needed.

I had so many questions in my mind about my dad. Ironically, the first one I asked was – “Why do they call you ‘the guy from street no 63’?”

Unexpectedly, he started – “ My name is Arun. This, this street no. 63 was my home. I loved it here. I used to live with my dad, my mom, my wife and my daughter. We were a happy family, like the ones in the climax of Hindi movies. We were farmer by legacy and this place used to be our garden. Lots of lots of trees. Then this big company people came here. They wanted to build apartments and malls and markets here. My father denied, so did the other farmers. First they offered money. Money can’t buy us, our homes, our lands, our trees are priceless to us. We protested under the leadership of my dad. Everyone us was ready to die, but give up our lands, farms. Until one day, few goons broke into our house. They shot my parents, right in front of my eyes. I could not do anything but watch them die. My wife and daughter were out of the city. My father died with his last words being ‘Take care of my trees son, please, takes care of them’. Since then I stay here. They took away my home, started cutting the trees and building tall buildings, malls. I couldn’t do anything. Every night when I came back, I saw a tree or few had been cut or a building is standing. I never caught them in the act. This, under which we are sitting is the last one. I am not gonna get them this one, at least I will try to. For my dad” – he took a deep breath as he looked at the stars with tears in his eyes.

I was numb. Where are your wife and daughter now? Do they live here, too? – I asked

“They never came back. I don’t know why “- he said.

“ Whats their names ? – I asked.

“Her name was Meera and my little angel was Ameera. Arun and Meera’s Ameera.

I was in shock. I could not believe it was really happening. He was my dad, ‘the guy from street number 63’ was my dad. He was guarding the trees of my grandfather from years. Everything was clear to me, though unbelievable but clear. It was clear why he could not save my grandparents. It was clear why he comes at 11 and leaves at 4. It was clear why he never saw people cutting those trees. It was clear why his wife never came back. Because that day he was shot too. It was my dad’s ghost who was ‘the guy from street no-63’ .

I knew what to do. It needed a promise. Next morning, I urged everyone from street no -63 to save the last tree of street no - 63. And I myself promised to guard it. And from that day onwards no one has ever seen ‘the guy from street no – 63’ .

Or may be he still exists.

in all of us.

If you can promise so, and if you know what I mean ....