"Not a day goes by without waiting for him, The Flute Player."
"I don't know his name, where he lives. All I know everyday when the sun is lazily going down, he comes outside my window. I can hear him coming from far down the road. He comes playing soft, melancholy yet beautiful tunes. His tunes gives me the purpose to reach my window and sit there, listen to him till he goes away."
"It's been three months I am staying in this room. It was my grandmother's room before, my father says. He says I am not well, but my mother doesn't speaks a word about it. She always smiles whenever she's with me. But I know she cries whenever she goes outside this room. I feel very weak nowadays. But I wish to go outside, maybe to the roof, maybe to the road next to our house to play with the brown roadside dog who waits for me. But I feel very feeble, so I don't get up from bed much, but one time. When the old flute player comes everyday to our streets. He sells different kinds of small musical instruments, calls himself the joy-trader. Indeed. I don't like to listen to the TV or the radio anymore. His melodies gives me the energy to spend the day. His tunes stays with me the entire day. It gives me the joy to see the sky, to call my mother. But I cannot cry out for her anymore. I just look at my door and wait for her to come. And magically when the sound of flute player fades away, she appears. She smiles, and cuddles me, and cries."
"Three days passed but he did not come. I feel worried. Has something happened to him? Is he also went to stars like my grandma? Will he come back? I couldn't get up anymore to see outside my window. My mother stays with me all the time now, when she feels that I slept she weeps silently. But I see her crying through my closed eyes. My father also comes often in the room. Sits for some time and goes again. Maybe he also cries too. I think they both are worried about the old flute player. They also think he is gone. But I know he will come back. I will hear his tunes again. I will get up and go out to play again."
The flute player came to these streets again. He couldn't come because he had to take care of his old knee with some rest. But he had to go out to spread joy. To see the ten year old boy who silently smiles from his window every time he passes through. But these days he doesn't see him. He feels worried. But he comes. Not a day goes by without him playing his tunes to the empty, silent streets. Not a day goes by without giving joy to every road he goes.
