After living for many years in Dubai, I’ve been habituated to getting up early in the morning, as early as 5 am.

Waking up that early is never easy, but eventually, it became a part of my life.

While I was in Bangalore, I’d been something of a night owl. I’d never slept before midnight and never woke up before 7 am. In fact, waking up at 7 am was a struggle, and often registered as an achievement.

But, that is a thing of the past and I do not really think about it, unless on weekends when I get up late and stare blankly at the deep blue sky.

Presently, I’am on vacation in my home town, and I’ve continued to wake-up early. Perhaps, it was a nostalgia of the adopted land that was still evident in me.

I opened my window and it was dark. I could see tiny droplets of water blobs on the rim of the window. It had rained the whole night and I could smell moist earth, which is very fresh in the wee hours of the day.

However, it stopped raining and by 7 am the rain had completely ceased, exposing the blue sky with tufts of cumulus clouds.

The weather was very pleasant. The morning chill of the crisp autumnal weather complementing the vibrant colors of the nature; the chirping birds and the brilliant sunshine invited me to take a stroll on the cobblestone pavement.

So, I picked up my flat cap which I purchased on Amazon and my wooden handled old man umbrella. I’m middle aged and not naturally pretentious, but, I’m old school sometimes when the juice is high upon me.

Walking on the pavement and tapping it nosily, I watch the morning business that progress around me. Newspaper boys scurrying around, milkman carefully placing the milk bottles in front of their customers’ doorstep, vegetable vendors at the corner of streets, an atypical sight of urban India.

Suddenly a cool wind would blow, and the leaves of the roadside trees would shiver sprinkling droplets of cold water over any passer-by, reminding them of the chill and the approaching winter, and the harshness associated with it.

I passed an empty estate with no trespassing signboard. It has been the same board for years, and now it was rusted. Everything else has trespassed that land; coconut shells, plastic bottles, priced possessions of vagabond drunkards and even litters of dogs colonizing their own territory within the vast span of the land. It is surprising to see that except humans, everything seemed to have paid a visit on the forbidden land, reminding how judicious we are in evading others settlement.

Being a Sunday, the street were less crowded. So I walked towards the local park. A car whizzed past a group of old gentlemen seated on a bench, splashing water in front of them.

The old men felt offended, and as if in an opera, they orchestrated curses in Kannada. Some passerby found it amusing. It was indeed, because the censored words were not said in the way it was to be pronounced. In a way, the brutal remarks mostly sounded gobbled up and I began to wonder if their final performance that looked imperiously targeting the reckless driver was worth its salt.

I could see that the park was renovated. Much of its side-walks were repaired and the garden seemed lush. I saw the gooseberry tree, which was still standing sturdy and inviting me for a hug. This tree was my favorite. When the gooseberries were ready to be plucked, I used to pluck the fruits and give it to children playing around them. Even, the rough looking gardener would not mind it. In short, there was an emotional attachment towards it.

After a few rounds of walk, I sat down on a bench and decided to meditate to enjoy the serenity. In this age of deforestation, parks as these are a welcome relief.

As I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see an old man seated beside me. I knew it wasn’t God, and thought it should be one of those old rascals seated outside. An afterthought reminded me that this man was someone else. Never saw him before.

As I looked at him for answers, he smiled a childish grin exposing the wrinkles of his age. For a moment, many old faces whom I knew, flashed before me, but, I was unable to link him to any of them.

I automatically said, “Good morning, uncle”, for which he nodded and replied nothing. I asked him his name and he seemed to be lost in a thought.

I asked again, “Uncle, are you okay?”. He just laughed at my anxiety, which sounded like an old auto-rickshaw without a silencer.

“Yes my son, I’m doing just fine”, he replied.

“Where do you live, uncle?” I questioned. “I never saw you here before”. I asked, trying to make him believe that I was a regular at the park.

“I don’t live here.. I don’t know… I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything” He looked into the sky straining his eyes, and exposing his gums and false teeth, hoping that the universal being would give him clues.

“So do you live with your children?” I inquired. That questioned struck him somewhere and he seemed to be lost again, which was becoming bit weird.

I feared that this was a strange case of Alzheimer’s. And I was right. I decided not to test his memory skills, lest it burden him more.

“My son, can you lend me some money or buy me breakfast?” he asked pleadingly, rubbing both his wrinkled hand on his knees.

I lifted him up with one hand and walked towards the numerous restaurants queued near the park. I looked at the old man. He was neatly dressed, but, it seems to be soiled at the collar. Probably, he was wearing the same dress for a few days. I assumed he might have just walked out of his house and never made it back, like those little birds that fall from its nest, rarely to be reunited with its parents.

I took him to the best restaurant at the vicinity. He ate one plate of Masala Dosa and another plate of Idli. He devoured it and let out a loud burp of contentment.

He started licking his fingers. Perhaps, he was famished. The poor old man was hungry all the while, and yet his pride was not shaken, to even ask for food from strangers. From the looks, he did not deserve what he was suffering from, and I made up my mind to help him unite with his family.

I called my friend Ramesh, who was a psychiatrist. I explained him the situation and took his advice. We talked to raise a social media campaign to register his case on the internet. That was the only best help we could think of.

Ramesh also insisted me to admit the old man at his hospital until his people find him. I decided to do just that.

So, to tell him the news, I made one more attempt. “Uncle, what is your name?”. He frowned and seemed lost for the third time. There was an expected silence between us, amidst the noises in the restaurant and the surroundings.

Breaking the ice I told him, “Uncle, I would like to take you to my friend, who is a doctor. He would give you a room to stay and treat you well until I find your relatives. Is that okay with you?”

The old man looked at me and nodded approvingly. “You can call me Venkat, although that is not my name” he said with a smile. “Great! uncle Venkat” I joked.

This rejoiced him and the aroma of filter coffee made him look towards the kitchen. So, I ordered two glasses of coffee.

We spoke in length for some time as I felt he would require some more cheering. From the talks, I realized that he seemed to be an extremely knowledgeable person. We discussed about various topics environment, health etc. His strength seemed to be in Physics and he enjoyed talking about it. I was successful in diverting his attention or at least, that was what I believed.

I listened to him with enthusiasm and he was liking the attention that he was getting. I was impressed, but, also sad that despite this knowledge that he possessed, his mind was incapable to not remember his name, forget his relatives. Strange are the powers of the human mind.

I informed him about the powers of social media and ensured him that I can give him a possible solution within a month. That was the time I had in Bangalore and I was determined to make it a success with the wide friends network that I had.

“So, can we take a selfie? Perhaps, your relatives might find you, when i post it on the internet” I requested. He felt happy. “My son, will that happen?” he enquired, puffing out with joy and almost choking himself. “Yes, uncle Venkat, it would happen”, I reassured him, keeping faith in the friendship circle I had.

After the hearty breakfast, I took him to Ramesh’s place. I admitted him and the old man looked very pleased. I bid him farewell and went home.

The next few days I was busy. With the help of another close friend, I made a Digital Missing Person Poster using the old man’s photograph. I even created a hashtag #findme, to spread it as a social media campaign.

I waited patiently for weeks, but, nothing ever happened. Also, my vacation were over. I met the old man before leaving. He seemed to be extremely dejected. “You tried your best son. You are a noble soul”, he said to cheer me up. I was almost in tears.

I promised to help him while I was in Dubai. “Let us not lose any hope, uncle” I said feebly.

I left for Dubai with a heavy heart.

In a few days, something spectacular happened. My friends circle beat the odds and found the old man’s relatives.

I received a call from someone named Atul. Atul told me that the old man was his father and had left home one morning without informing anyone. He and his mother had tried their best to gather all information about the old man. But, in vain.

He informed how happy he was and was thankful to me and my friends.

I immediately took the next flight to Bangalore, and did everything to help the old man reunite with his family. Parting was difficult, but, I was just reuniting a lost bird, I thought.

The old man even posted his picture on social media. He seemed to be very happy now, with his false teeth shining bright.

Within a few months, I visited Bangalore on vacation. Same place, same park, and the same old gang of men. They were feeding a mongrel cur, who was too lazy to pick up the biscuits thrown at it. The old men were having a laugh at it. But my old man was missing.

I walked towards my gooseberry tree and looked at it with pride. I, of course, had shown some real commitment towards life, in helping a helpless man reunite with his family.