Dear Mr. Watchman
The previous year had been pretty challenging for everyone, myself included.
Growing up, I've always nurtured this ambitious idea that by the time I was 25, I would have my life sorted out; that I would be extremely prosperous and my bank account brimming with lush green notes; that I would have the most satisfactory, self-fulfilling job and that I would have traveled all across the globe from the Atlantic to the Pacific; that I’d own an array of palatial villas and sumptuous yachts; that I’d be an embodiment of triumph and inspire my family, friends, colleagues, and all those around me. I’d be all that everyone strives for: to be a hero.
As is the case, life doesn’t work out the way we imagine it to be.
I am 24 years old, and I've had my fair share of victories and downfalls, my fair share of joy and despair, and trials and tribulations more than what I would have bargained for. I’ve had my good days and my bad days. But there are some days where we’d never have felt so lost. I happened to find myself on one of those gloomy days in the early hours of yesteryear.
I thought then, ‘my life was not supposed to be this way.’ If the 10-year-old me had seen me then, he’d, in all likelihood, jeered at me and felt pretty disheartened. Remember, the plan was to become a hero and the embodiment of hope, success, and happiness?
Although I have to confess that it’s not all rack and ruin. I have so much to be grateful for: An affectionate family, sympathetic friends, open-minded tendency to see things as they are without any bias, access to a copious amount of knowledge thanks to society and my parents at large, food on my plate, a roof over my head and a fine standard of living that so many millions of peoples dream of. Despite possessing these endowments, some days make you forget all that you are thankful for. During such days, it is strenuous to see the good.
The first hours of 2021 were one of those days. A blend of personal troubles and work commotions had me feeling baffled, assailable, and unchaperoned. It marred my enthusiasm and I knew if I opt to let myself succumb to the troubles of the day, I would find myself in a perpetual cycle of misery.
But try as I might, I could not shake the feeling of despondency and self-reproach.
As usual, I went for my training, jumped out of my sweatpants, hoped into a jean, and embarked for work. I could not get the negative thought out of my head. As is the case when you do something with your mind preoccupied with troubles, the work that you undertake often culminates in mayhem. Such was the scenario. Anyone who had seen me that day would paint such a portrait: “sadness streamed through him; his eyes were drained of hope and it was conspicuously evident that he was trying hard to hold back the seething avalanche of tears that I noticed had been building up since the moment he stepped in. His words fumbled and eyes in a daze, perhaps far away for the commotions of the yesteryear. Post-lunch, he slumped into his chair, leaned forward, placed his head between his hands, and remained hushed for the rest of the day. A low whimper here and a stifled wheeze there…” You get the picture. I was beginning to lose hope and manifested displeasure at every given opportunity.
It was then I looked and saw you.
There you were, with your bewitching smile emitting prodigious kindness, and a cheering thumbs up willing me to not give up. I rode my vehicle closer to you and you nodded and waved at me with an illuminating spirit. I saw unadulterated kindness in your exhaustive eyes. As I began surpassing you, you nodded your head yet again in the path I was proceeding towards, acknowledging my journey.
A gesture so trivial, yet so humane, the effects of which so cherubic.
Suddenly, your lips opened wide, as if you were about to say something. But I could not hear you. The clamor of the people and the hubbub of the traffic stifled your words. I will never know what you said. Chances are, I will never get to learn your name. Or you, my name. I may even forget how you looked, but I will never fail to recall that smile and the nod that followed suit. I may even forget the troubles that engulfed me back then, but never fail to remember how your thumbs up made me feel.
Dear Mr. Watch Man, many thanks to you.
In my moment of failing, in my moment of hopelessness, there you stood, clad in an ill-fitting blue shirt, matching pants, and a smeared cap, strong and phlegmatic, coaxing me to keep going. I could distinctly recall that day: The sun cast a luminescent glow, the weather completely out of sync with my mood. Sweat rolled down my sides and beaded across my brow; the air remained thick and practically no shades existed for at least a mile. A strange man you were, shoes dotted with a dark stain, salty droplets cascaded down your face like soft summer rain, trickling onto the pavement as you leaned back against the wall to regain your breath. A strange man that you were, with your own story, your personal obstacles and troubles. A strange man with your share of crestfallen days, yet you reached out to me. I could tell just by a mere gaze that you had been through so much more than me. I could tell you had encountered problems far murkier than I had seen over the years. Twelve hours a day, six days a week, for nobody knows how long, you had stood at that very spot, routing and examining vehicles, hailing and saluting VIPs, always on a constant lookout for something that may or may not occur. An onerous job that you have, working under the sun, glaring at the monitors, a wide-awake coma until the end of your shift. A strange man you were, looking drained and dejected. Yet there you were, spurring me on, backing me with a gesture of a hand, and head, hoping I would win.
Hope resided in the way you, my dear Watch Man, smiled; No words of consolation were exchanged, no words of motivation traded, and yet you somehow managed to reach out to me with your smile. Hope resided in the way you, my dear Watch Man, paused amidst the chaos you were dealing with and nodded your head; Hope, my dear Watch Man, was in that soft shrug of yours, the kind of credence with which you smiled at me.
Thank you for being my miracle for that day. Much obliged to you for reminding me that life isn’t that bad and that I should smile too, even during punishing times- especially during punishing times. Much thanks to you for proving that there is still some goodness, a residue of it at least, left in this world. Thank you, Mr. Watch Man, for enlightening me that even strangers care. Thank you for jogging my memory that anyone, at any point of time, anywhere on Earth, can be a hero.
Dear Mr. Watch Man, you were my hero that day.
- Surya Sree
Growing up, I've always nurtured this ambitious idea that by the time I was 25, I would have my life sorted out; that I would be extremely prosperous and my bank account brimming with lush green notes; that I would have the most satisfactory, self-fulfilling job and that I would have traveled all across the globe from the Atlantic to the Pacific; that I’d own an array of palatial villas and sumptuous yachts; that I’d be an embodiment of triumph and inspire my family, friends, colleagues, and all those around me. I’d be all that everyone strives for: to be a hero.
As is the case, life doesn’t work out the way we imagine it to be.
I am 24 years old, and I've had my fair share of victories and downfalls, my fair share of joy and despair, and trials and tribulations more than what I would have bargained for. I’ve had my good days and my bad days. But there are some days where we’d never have felt so lost. I happened to find myself on one of those gloomy days in the early hours of yesteryear.
I thought then, ‘my life was not supposed to be this way.’ If the 10-year-old me had seen me then, he’d, in all likelihood, jeered at me and felt pretty disheartened. Remember, the plan was to become a hero and the embodiment of hope, success, and happiness?
Although I have to confess that it’s not all rack and ruin. I have so much to be grateful for: An affectionate family, sympathetic friends, open-minded tendency to see things as they are without any bias, access to a copious amount of knowledge thanks to society and my parents at large, food on my plate, a roof over my head and a fine standard of living that so many millions of peoples dream of. Despite possessing these endowments, some days make you forget all that you are thankful for. During such days, it is strenuous to see the good.
The first hours of 2021 were one of those days. A blend of personal troubles and work commotions had me feeling baffled, assailable, and unchaperoned. It marred my enthusiasm and I knew if I opt to let myself succumb to the troubles of the day, I would find myself in a perpetual cycle of misery.
But try as I might, I could not shake the feeling of despondency and self-reproach.
As usual, I went for my training, jumped out of my sweatpants, hoped into a jean, and embarked for work. I could not get the negative thought out of my head. As is the case when you do something with your mind preoccupied with troubles, the work that you undertake often culminates in mayhem. Such was the scenario. Anyone who had seen me that day would paint such a portrait: “sadness streamed through him; his eyes were drained of hope and it was conspicuously evident that he was trying hard to hold back the seething avalanche of tears that I noticed had been building up since the moment he stepped in. His words fumbled and eyes in a daze, perhaps far away for the commotions of the yesteryear. Post-lunch, he slumped into his chair, leaned forward, placed his head between his hands, and remained hushed for the rest of the day. A low whimper here and a stifled wheeze there…” You get the picture. I was beginning to lose hope and manifested displeasure at every given opportunity.
It was then I looked and saw you.
There you were, with your bewitching smile emitting prodigious kindness, and a cheering thumbs up willing me to not give up. I rode my vehicle closer to you and you nodded and waved at me with an illuminating spirit. I saw unadulterated kindness in your exhaustive eyes. As I began surpassing you, you nodded your head yet again in the path I was proceeding towards, acknowledging my journey.
A gesture so trivial, yet so humane, the effects of which so cherubic.
Suddenly, your lips opened wide, as if you were about to say something. But I could not hear you. The clamor of the people and the hubbub of the traffic stifled your words. I will never know what you said. Chances are, I will never get to learn your name. Or you, my name. I may even forget how you looked, but I will never fail to recall that smile and the nod that followed suit. I may even forget the troubles that engulfed me back then, but never fail to remember how your thumbs up made me feel.
Dear Mr. Watch Man, many thanks to you.
In my moment of failing, in my moment of hopelessness, there you stood, clad in an ill-fitting blue shirt, matching pants, and a smeared cap, strong and phlegmatic, coaxing me to keep going. I could distinctly recall that day: The sun cast a luminescent glow, the weather completely out of sync with my mood. Sweat rolled down my sides and beaded across my brow; the air remained thick and practically no shades existed for at least a mile. A strange man you were, shoes dotted with a dark stain, salty droplets cascaded down your face like soft summer rain, trickling onto the pavement as you leaned back against the wall to regain your breath. A strange man that you were, with your own story, your personal obstacles and troubles. A strange man with your share of crestfallen days, yet you reached out to me. I could tell just by a mere gaze that you had been through so much more than me. I could tell you had encountered problems far murkier than I had seen over the years. Twelve hours a day, six days a week, for nobody knows how long, you had stood at that very spot, routing and examining vehicles, hailing and saluting VIPs, always on a constant lookout for something that may or may not occur. An onerous job that you have, working under the sun, glaring at the monitors, a wide-awake coma until the end of your shift. A strange man you were, looking drained and dejected. Yet there you were, spurring me on, backing me with a gesture of a hand, and head, hoping I would win.
Hope resided in the way you, my dear Watch Man, smiled; No words of consolation were exchanged, no words of motivation traded, and yet you somehow managed to reach out to me with your smile. Hope resided in the way you, my dear Watch Man, paused amidst the chaos you were dealing with and nodded your head; Hope, my dear Watch Man, was in that soft shrug of yours, the kind of credence with which you smiled at me.
Thank you for being my miracle for that day. Much obliged to you for reminding me that life isn’t that bad and that I should smile too, even during punishing times- especially during punishing times. Much thanks to you for proving that there is still some goodness, a residue of it at least, left in this world. Thank you, Mr. Watch Man, for enlightening me that even strangers care. Thank you for jogging my memory that anyone, at any point of time, anywhere on Earth, can be a hero.
Dear Mr. Watch Man, you were my hero that day.
- Surya Sree
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