Home and the World

Sun gleamed off the metal as I stepped out from the old Vectra and shut the door behind me. I looked around for the little green box which said ‘Pay and display’. I spotted it at a distance. A gentleman was fiddling with it.
The cathedral of Tintern Abbey stood majestically in the Welsh sun, while wind played an orchestra around it as it brushed past the trees.
I could see his silver hair shine with the sunshine. He was tall and well built. Clad in a light blue shirt he let his sunglasses hang from its collar, and together with a brown hat they made an endearing sight as he struggled for a parking ticket in that deserted parking lot.
I rescued my handbag from the backseat, lit a cigarette and stood watching. Few minutes passed, but he made no progress. Perhaps the machine was difficult to operate. I consider myself technologically handicapped. But a year in UK had taught me some of the common etiquettes. People here, were unbelievably sweet. I walked towards him. “Are you all right?” I offered help, nevertheless.
He looked up in surprise. “Oh yes, do you want a parking ticket?” His face, now flushed pink with the sun broke into a handsome smile. It made the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes jump with delight.
My eyes widened with wonder as he handed me a ticket. “I got an extra. You can have it,” he said, putting it into my hands. “Thanks!” I almost exclaimed with joy. I no longer needed to fight the machine. I proceeded to unzip my bag. “How much…?” I had begun when he cut me short. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Please, I insist,” my hand was still in my bag searching for my wallet. In India, it is considered an ill omen to owe money to a stranger. “You must let me pay for the entry then,” I protested with guilt. “It’s al’right,” he said with a twinkle in his blue eyes.
“I used to come here with my grand-daughter, you know. She was just like you.” His eyes trailed off into oblivion as if taking a plunge into a sea of memories.
“Thank you very much,” I said sheepishly. He shrugged like it was no big deal, “I can’t get my head around these damned machines.”
When I was very young I missed Grandpa often. Mom said he had become a star. But wasn’t he here, protecting me from damned machines in a foreign land?
I was wishing for little more conversation when my cell-phone began to ring. “Excuse me,” I begged for his pardon, cursing my phone for its bad timing. He walked away. I watched his robust frame vanish into the souvenir shop as I took the call.