The Unpaid Installments

The sound of receding footsteps shook her up from deep slumber....she could see him leaving the room, cautiously closing the door behind him. She knew where he was going but never questioned him, always pretending to be asleep.

It was a ritual since fourteen years now, he would go into the study, search for old albums, clean the dust that might have gathered over the days with his shrivelled trembling hands and then place them gently one by one on the faded table cover.

His eyes would gleam as if he was going to unravel some treasure while his hands held the albums as if they were made of glass. Slowly he would open up the spectacle case, carefully pick his spectacles and slide them over his shrivelled nose.

Sitting on the chair he would go through all the pictures, smiling to himself at times, moving his hands affectionately over the pages and then once he finished seeing them all, he would just wipe the tears at the corners of his eye with a deep sigh....

She could hear his footsteps nearing, as the door opened she just turned around and continued her skillful act of deep slumber wondering why men hide their pain ....he was the one who was more keen on sending the children abroad for education....took loans for which he was paying instalments till he retired .......he paid the bank loan but neither he nor his children could ever pay the emotional and mental debt that he created for himself....for which the instalments shall always remain incomplete......