Just three steps

He stood three steps away from me.

On his left hand second finger was tied a dirty black insulation tape.

In his other hand, he had a brand new band-aid.

His second finger was bleeding.

Blood. Thick-red blood. Drops of it fell.

Sliding down through his wrist, drip, a drop, two, three...

He tried to place the band-aid on his wound, try as he may, he couldn't.

Again he tried, he couldn't.

I watched him - old man, seemed a labourer, dirty clothes, may be drunk,  may be not, may be he spoke Tamil or may be Bengali..

His wrestle with the band-aid continued, it was dark, he couldn't see properly.

More people started to watch him, more blood dripped.

At last the band-aid fell down.

He searched for it, but couldn't see. I saw, but never moved.

At last he walked away, taking the old dirty black tape from the ground, and tying it back.

I was only three steps away from him.

I could have placed the band-aid on his wound.

I could have picked the band-aid from the ground, when he dropped it.

I could have helped him.

I could have slept in peace that night.

For he was only three steps away from me.