Small Story 57 Judge Properly

Small story 57 Judge Properly Sundaresan sat comfortably in his chair, a steaming cup of tea ready for his friend Kiccha, a talented cook who dedicated his time to a senior citizens' home. His wife, Bhagirathi, emerged from the kitchen, her arms crossed in mild annoyance. "He’ll come, just wait," she whispered, glancing at the clock. Sundaresan smiled. He had a soft spot for Kiccha, his childhood buddy. They had gone to school together, but while Sundaresan pursued higher education, Kiccha faced family struggles that led him to choose a career in cooking instead. When Kiccha finally arrived, he apologized, his face flushed from the rush. "Sorry, Sundaresan. I lost track of time." "Don’t worry about it. I know how busy you are," Sundaresan replied warmly. Bhagirathi entered the room with a plate of Mysorepak, a traditional sweet, paired with fresh coffee. Kiccha's eyes lit up. "This is delicious, Manni!" he exclaimed. Bhagirathi merely nodded, her pride barely concealed. Her background as a judge's daughter often made her seem aloof, a quality Kiccha had learned to overlook because of his deep friendship with Sundaresan. As they chatted, Sundaresan’s phone rang. It was Pattabi, another old friend from his days in college. "Hey, Sundaresan! I just moved back and wanted to catch up. How’s everything?" "All good! Just enjoying some time with Kiccha here," he replied. "Oh, you’re lucky," Pattabi said. "I’ve found a wonderful cook who’s been helping me since my wife fell ill. His name is Kiccha, and he’s been taking care of everything for me." Sundaresan’s heart swelled with pride. He’d already sensed Kiccha’s impact, and hearing Pattabi praise him confirmed it. Bhagirathi, however, felt a flush of embarrassment as she realized she had misjudged Kiccha. "All the fingers aren’t the same," Sundaresan thought, sensing Bhagirathi’s change of heart. It was never too late to amend past mistakes, especially when kindness like Kiccha’s shone so brightly. In that small living room, friendships deepened and understanding blossomed, as sweet as the Mysorepak that lingered in the air. K.Ragavan 25-10-24