A grey red day

It was drizzling. The unexpected rains in winter had painted the days a morbid grey. I stared listlessly at the swirling traffic around me. Delhi roads have lost their charm owing to the incessant construction of fly overs and metro tracks. Traffic is at a standstill more often than not.

Two little girls huddled under the huge road diversion hoarding which was providing temporary relief from the rain. A flash of red caught my eye. A man was crossing the road. He was one of the most ordinary looking fellows I had ever laid my eyes on. If tomorrow he turned out to be a criminal, and the police asked me to descibe him, I would draw a mental blank.

Anyway, this fellow in his brown shirt and brown pants, thinning hair and rotund pot belly was crossing the road in front of my car. The red which had caught my attention was the brilliant red of the bouquet of roses which the man was carrying.

The flowers were looking such a misfit in his hands. The visions which the movies have fed us over the ages has seen many a dashing hero carry a bouquet of love for his lady. But my common man carried the blossoms with a flourish. His measly leather portfolio was held atop his head to protect him from the rain. The bag protruded way ahead to protect the flowers he held close to his chest. He didn't care that his back was soaking wet.
Why did his catch my interest?  Not because of his commonality. It was the tender expression in his eyes. A soft love for his special someone which ,at this moment, was being represented by the roses. There was a gentle smile on his lips and an anticipatory briskness in his step. Love had made a simple commonplace bouquet of flowers rise to a level of reverence in his eyes.

The light turned green and I moved on , the man crossed the street and moved on. In a few seconds, the man and his bouquet of roses had changed the colour of my grey day to red.