I stood at the window, looking out, at a distance I could see new buildings being built. The big cranes lifting materials up to the top. I wondered about the thoughts running through the crane operator’s mind. I thought of him as being on top of the world but at the end of the day he was just a worker. As I was lost in thoughts, I realized I was no different than the crane.
Oblivious to what was going on around me, I was brought back to reality by a loud chatter of people talking exuberantly with each other. Their language felt alien to me, I spoke the same language though, but I heard and understood nothing. Everyone had gathered around a table. Someone placed a cake in the center. My gaze was fixed on the cranes outside the window when I felt a hand grip my shoulder to turn me to face the room. I was pushed into the center of the circle. I saw the cake with my name on it.
It was time for drama to being. Expressionless faces of people now had smiles, fake smiles to be precise. People praised me. There was some kind of artificial excitement. Some even hugged me. For a brief moment I was treated like a celebrity. Now it was my turn to be dramatic. I too put on a fake smile, laughed and pretended to be excited. The cake was cut. People had their share. Then, they resumed to their office work like nothing had happened. I was left alone.
I turned back, and looked at the crane far in the distant. It stood on the top of the incomplete building, making the building taller day by day. I imagined when the building would be completed, the crane would be removed from the site like it had never existed. It would be lost in the glory of the building. People would admire the building and not remember the crane that helped it to its summit.
That night, I could not sleep. I wondered all night through if I was that crane.
About the Author
Sumant is a software engineer by profession and recently discovered the joy of writing. He always thought reading books somehow made one a better writer, and soon discovered that its not true. Writing the story as he would enjoy reading it, is what he thinks, is most important