Void

“Death is a delightful hiding-place for weary men.”
-Herodotus

…
I was on my familiar way to my coaching class. And like most of the days, I stopped before the busy stalls on the railway station. I looked for the shop from where I buy candies and chewing gums and for the first time I saw it closed.
I stood before it for a minute wondering from where I would buy gums now. The other shop keeper from the neighbor shop asked me, “Beta, what do you want?” [In Bengali of course]
I asked him why the shop was closed.
He said that the shop keeper committed suicide last night. 
I stood there steal for a moment, blankly.
I stared at that small shop, closed. I saw those faded colors and that nearly broken hoarding 
A picture of a middle-aged fat man came before my eyes from nowhere; I recalled his eyes, weary and pale. He always smiled while giving me things. He sometimes used to give me one candy in free, I was a regular customer. I WAS!


Why would he commit suicide? I thought.
The next moment I was back to where I was, in that busy crowd.
I heard some whispering phrases around my ears, some people have heard to what that shop-keeper said and they were discussing about it.
“May be he had so much loans to pay”
“May be it was a cheat-case”
“But he had a nice family. Poor wife of his…tsk tsk..”
And so many fake sympathies.


I walked pass that place fast. I didn’t want to hear it; I didn’t want to face it.
He was sad, and death gave him peace.
Really?