Fate and Chaos

"Can you believe this rain? It's as if the heavens are weeping," said the man, shaking his umbrella and leaning against the rusting bus stand pole.

"I know, right? My sweets are going to turn into syrup if it keeps up like this," replied the other, clutching a brown paper bag close to his chest.

"Ah, you sell sweets? What kind?"

"Roshogolla, sandesh, mishti doi—you name it. Been in the family for generations. And you?"

"I deal in cement. Tough business, but it has its moments. Speaking of tough times, did you hear about the woman who killed her own son and husband?"

"The one in Ballygunge? Terrible. They say she's gone mad, admitted to some mental asylum now. What drives a mother to such madness?"

"Who knows? People are saying all sorts of things. Some claim she was possessed. Others say she was under extreme stress."

"It's always easier to believe in possession than to face the ugly truth of mental illness. I heard she was quite well-off, her husband a successful businessman."

"Yes, I knew him. Bought cement from me last year. Building an extension to his house. Never would've guessed something like this could happen."

The rain continued to pour, turning the street into a shallow river. The sweet scent of fresh raindrops mingled with the aroma of sweets escaping from the bag.

"What a waste of life. The boy was only ten, right? Just starting to understand the world."

"Yes, a tragedy. My daughter is the same age. I can't imagine what would push a mother to such an extreme."

"Stress, maybe. Expectations. Our society can be cruel. We put so much pressure on each other, on ourselves."

"True. In my line of work, it's all about the deadlines, the demand for quality. One mistake and the whole structure could collapse."

"It's similar with sweets. One wrong ingredient, one moment of inattention, and everything's ruined. But it doesn't compare to taking a life. Two lives."

"You know, they say she was seen talking to herself days before the incident. Arguing with an unseen presence."

"That's often the first sign, isn't it? The mind playing tricks, reality blending with hallucination."

A car splashed through a puddle nearby, sending a spray of water over their shoes. The men stepped back, their shoes now soaked.

"We should be kinder to each other. Listen more. My wife always says I should talk less about business and more about feelings. Maybe she has a point."

"My wife says the same. I think we both need to start listening to our wives more."

They shared a chuckle, the rain's intensity gradually lessening.

"Do you think the woman will ever recover?"

"Hard to say. Mental scars run deep. I hope she finds peace, for her sake and for the souls of her husband and son."

"May their souls rest in peace. It's a reminder of how fragile life is. One moment, you're selling sweets or cement, and the next..."

"Yes. We must cherish what we have, the people around us. Life is unpredictable."

The rain began to slow, transforming from a torrential downpour to a steady drizzle. The sweet aroma from the bag grew stronger.

"Is it okay if I have one of your sweets? This rain is making me crave something sweet."

"Of course! Here, try a sandesh. Made fresh this morning."

The cement dealer took a bite, savoring the rich, creamy texture. "Delicious! Your family must be proud of your skills."

"Thank you. My father taught me everything. He always said sweets have the power to make people happy, no matter how tough their day has been."

"Wise man. We need more happiness these days. More sweetness."

"Indeed. And less madness, less tragedy."

They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city muffled by the light rain. 

"Do you believe in fate?" the cement dealer asked suddenly.

"Fate? Hard to say. Sometimes, it feels like everything happens for a reason. Other times, it just seems like chaos."

"Maybe it's both. A mix of fate and chaos. Like cement and water. Alone, they're nothing. Together, they build."

The sweet seller smiled. "I like that analogy. Maybe we can build something better from the chaos. Create a world with less tragedy."

"Here's to hoping," the cement dealer said, extending his hand.

The sweet seller shook it firmly. "To build a better world."

As the rain finally stopped, they parted ways, each carrying a piece of the conversation with them, a small reminder of the fragility and sweetness of life.