Ctry + Y.. A story.
The building was dilapidated, almost in ruins. Hardly anybody went in there now and yet there was a commotion on the fifth floor. As the stock market fell sharply, Mr Deeds clutched at his chest. All his savings, all that he had scavenged went into the abyss following the marque on the TV set. Deeds couldn't breathe staring at the blank TV screen. It was his third cardiac arrest. He had defied nature twice already, but he might not be lucky this time over. At 63 he was too worked up, being head of a multi-million marketing firm wasn't an easy task after all. The stock market collapse was a huge one this time over. Everything had collapsed at once. It was too much to take, for it was Mr.Deeds who had went against all to put up all the company money into the then bullish market. Let alone the loss, he was under debt and bankrupt. He needed to get away. Get away soon. Mr.Deeds grabbed his suit from Saville row hung on the door and his customised briefcase and left the building.
The city was crowded, overcrowded to be correct. Mr.Deeds left his Daimler in the parking and made way towards the train. It seemed a decade since he had last used it. It was when he had what people called a family. As he finally got into the jam-packed train, the sweaty yet smiling faces of the travellers made him envious. How could they be happy? He could have bought them all, perhaps a few moments ago, before the market crash. But now he was now penniless. He got down at the last station. Mr.Deeds had no money all in despair. He felt hungry now. As Mr.Deeds made way towards the bench on the platform. Mr.Deeds had no money all in despair. He felt hungry now. As Mr.Deeds made way towards the bench he saw a parcel lying unattended on it. Curious he opened it. And ahh!! as if somebody had heard his stomach praying, inside the parcel were a couple of rotis and some pickle, with a ugly bottle, but it had water. How silly could people be. How absent minded to leave such a parcel lying around. His gentlemanly manners told him to keep it back as it was, but his hunger said otherwise. As if he hadn't actually eaten the entire day. Perhaps he had not, so busy at work. Mr.Deeds looked around but saw nobody other than for some shabby looking man standing near a pillar. The shabby man was looking at Mr.Deeds once in a while but it didn't matter. How ugly people could be, thought Mr.Deeds no hygiene and started eating the crudely made rotis. He was ravenous for sure. After gulping down the water he felt better. Mr.Deeds seemed happier, so what if he was beaten, he would rise again. And why not start from the grassroots, perhaps by taking the train tomorrow, anyways he could not find his Daimler keys. With this thought slouched, resting. The trains passing by didn't bother Mr.Deeds as he was already fast asleep on the bench. Sleeping soundly.
The shabby man came from behind the pillar and picked up the leftovers and the parcel wrapper for the next day. The same couple of rotis and pickle he could manage out of his earnings for Mr.Suit, as he had named Mr.Deeds. Surely it had been a decade Mr.Suit would come by the train. The same suit, everything the same, sit by the bench and not a day missed. May be he was another lunatic hit by the market crash 10 years ago.
And yes he was, Mr.Deeds, a prolific banker of his times, hit pretty bad by the losses, would now each day repeat his routine of the day of the market crash. The office building, the market had long moved on but not Mr.Deeds. As the old Mr.Deeds lay asleep unawares of his extreme Alzheimers'.
The city was crowded, overcrowded to be correct. Mr.Deeds left his Daimler in the parking and made way towards the train. It seemed a decade since he had last used it. It was when he had what people called a family. As he finally got into the jam-packed train, the sweaty yet smiling faces of the travellers made him envious. How could they be happy? He could have bought them all, perhaps a few moments ago, before the market crash. But now he was now penniless. He got down at the last station. Mr.Deeds had no money all in despair. He felt hungry now. As Mr.Deeds made way towards the bench on the platform. Mr.Deeds had no money all in despair. He felt hungry now. As Mr.Deeds made way towards the bench he saw a parcel lying unattended on it. Curious he opened it. And ahh!! as if somebody had heard his stomach praying, inside the parcel were a couple of rotis and some pickle, with a ugly bottle, but it had water. How silly could people be. How absent minded to leave such a parcel lying around. His gentlemanly manners told him to keep it back as it was, but his hunger said otherwise. As if he hadn't actually eaten the entire day. Perhaps he had not, so busy at work. Mr.Deeds looked around but saw nobody other than for some shabby looking man standing near a pillar. The shabby man was looking at Mr.Deeds once in a while but it didn't matter. How ugly people could be, thought Mr.Deeds no hygiene and started eating the crudely made rotis. He was ravenous for sure. After gulping down the water he felt better. Mr.Deeds seemed happier, so what if he was beaten, he would rise again. And why not start from the grassroots, perhaps by taking the train tomorrow, anyways he could not find his Daimler keys. With this thought slouched, resting. The trains passing by didn't bother Mr.Deeds as he was already fast asleep on the bench. Sleeping soundly.
The shabby man came from behind the pillar and picked up the leftovers and the parcel wrapper for the next day. The same couple of rotis and pickle he could manage out of his earnings for Mr.Suit, as he had named Mr.Deeds. Surely it had been a decade Mr.Suit would come by the train. The same suit, everything the same, sit by the bench and not a day missed. May be he was another lunatic hit by the market crash 10 years ago.
And yes he was, Mr.Deeds, a prolific banker of his times, hit pretty bad by the losses, would now each day repeat his routine of the day of the market crash. The office building, the market had long moved on but not Mr.Deeds. As the old Mr.Deeds lay asleep unawares of his extreme Alzheimers'.
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