Mistaken to be mature.


I’d do things differently Mohan Chacha” he remarked. His mother, eavesdropping hitherto, burst into the room and launched a diatribe. “Don’t dare to swerve from the family path. Our family has worked hard to amass this wealth for generations. You are the next flag bearer. Don’t give that immature, vacuous and cheap brain of yours any work and just follow my directions. Learn from Mohan Chacha you pea-brained rascal.”

Rahul, taken aback by the sudden tirade, began weeping. Mohan Chacha, comforting Rahul, opened his mouth. “Madamji, we were playing Angry Birds. I secured two stars. He said he’d do it differently.”

__________________________

2d514474-672f-49c4-929e-6b3f8dc84559_zpsbca51962

Posted for the prompt “I’d do things differently” at Write Tribe.

Advertisements

Right people for the Job.

Political Party ad:

      Anyone** above 25 years can apply.

Posts: Future MLAs, MPs, Presidents, Spokepersons.

** Conditions apply

  • rowdies, criminals, underworld members. (attach reference letter)
  • unscrupulously educated (essay on “Not more than one vegetable a day”)
  • Scam oriented (essay on “Scam and render it a sham”)
  • defamed actors (email videos/photos)
  • common man need not apply. 

__________________________

This post is written in response to the prompt “Conditions Apply” for 55 on Friday at Write Tribe.

So near and yet so far.

Latif had a dream. He wanted to go to school. The garage in which he worked was situated right in front of a School. Everyday in his third hour of duty, which would start right at 6.00 am in the morning, his gleaming innocent eyes  followed the students walking into the school right to their classroom. If his vision had hearing abilities too, then his eyes would attend the lectures and then return back. Thats how bad he wanted to go to school.  Shining shoes, creased uniforms,  lunch boxes, well groomed oily hairs and backpacks flaunting 3-D Super Heroes, everything looked so perfect about going to school. There he was, dreaming about all these with greased hands. The intensified random thoughts in his brain slightly abated the speed of his hands working on the moped. All his dreaming ceased at once when a tight slap from his employer, Raja Saab, landed right on his cheek. He began to work, with his tears incessantly dropping on Mother Earth. At the tender age of 12, Latif dreamt of going to school.

That day was special. The city Mayor after dropping his children to the school stopped by the garage. He was accompanied by the headmaster of the school. Latif as usual was working his magic trying to revive a dead engine. He was all ears to the conversation between the two visitors and Raja Saab.  “Raja, something called as RTE has been implemented. The Government has taken this issue seriously. Now that the elections are nearing, my party wants to show that we are working towards implementing RTE. To that end we would like to enrol the three children working in your garage to the school. The Headmaster has agreed to enrol them in his school, so that he can claim for the funds released under the act” the Mayor spoke. The three of them then walked for a distance, discussed for a minute and then shook hands with each other and dispersed. Latif cried again, incessantly, this time due to unbearable joy. His dream was about to come true. That night in his sleep he had a dream.

He wakes up one fine morning. As he is struggling to open his eyes against the thorny rays of the morning sun, three shadow like humans greet him. He learns that they are Raja Saab with a brand new lunch box, Mayor with the creased uniform and the Headmaster with the new shining shoes. They get him ready. For the first time in his life the boy walks out of his home ready for school. From the dark interior of his dilapidated home he walks towards a bright exterior in the hope of a bright future. 

theboywt

Image Courtesy: Morgue File (http://mrg.bz/jnYWqY)

He then awoke in reality to be subjected to exactly the same events as in his dreams. But instead of School, he is taken to a photo studio along with the other two children. After the photo shoot of the children in their school uniforms, their finger prints are imprinted in the rectangular box of a form. Latif is shocked when they bring him back home and ask him to change. They take back the uniform, bag, lunch box and shoes. He feels like someone is taking away his life.  Raja Saab hands over a cover each to the Mayor and the Headmaster. That evening when Latif is as usual working his magic on a bike, the Headmaster drops by to leave his scooter for service. ” Two free services you remember” he remarks. “Ya Ya I know” retorts Raja Saab. Once the Headmaster leaves a visibly angry Raja Saab slaps the three kids and shouts at them. ” You bloody rascals. Because of you I had to pay 20,000 bribe and now I have to give two free services for that bastard. I will cut fifty rupees every month from your salary now onwards”.

Latif wipes his tears and resumes work. His friend, 10 years of age, comes near him and rests his palm on his shoulder and says ” It should be terrible for you. It was your dream right.” Latif answers with a mature smile ” At least I got to wear it for a moment. I will work like a donkey and make sure my children go to school”.

____________________________

This post is written in response to “The Boy”: Wednesday Prompt  at  Write Tribe.

The “Mother”

Paul had lived life to the fullest. He drank the cup of life till its very last drop. The day he closed his eyes for the last time was, unfortunately, exactly hundred years after the day he opened his eyes for the first time. He died seconds after he became a centenarian. The entire town loved “Paul Chacha”(Paul Uncle). His Library, which he fondly called as the “Mother”, was open that day, as per his wishes. “Never deny people their right to study and learn” he would say. “Mother” was a  great Library. Paul had made sure that he left no stone unturned as far as the development and maintainance of “Mother” was concerned. It was truly “state of the art” in every respect except one. It was not air conditioned artificially. The library had these huge windows, which were open most of the time. The breeze from the beach nearby and the huge trees surrounding the library ensured that “Mother” was by default air-conditioned, courtesy Mother Nature.

Paul had read most of the books and knew the title and the name of the author of almost every book in that Library. “How can a son not know about his Mother?” he would always retort when some one asked him about how he managed to keep so much information at his fingertips. In the last eighty years hardly did he set his foot outside the library. “I cannot leave my Mother alone” he would argue with people who would advise him to take a break. “How could Mother’s lap not be peaceful?” he would assert. A small room annexe to the topmost floor of the library was his abode. His morning walk was well within the vast library. He would make sure he covered every nook and corner of the library. If he found any section dirty or ill-organised, the punishment for the person responsible was a special one. For a week Paul would clean the section on his behalf. The six-hundred odd employees were experts in what they were assigned to do, thanks to he innovative punishments of Paul.  “Punishments should not hurt the physical exterior but should tap and mend the gentle interior” was his mantra. He had two last wishes. The first one was obvious; His mortal remains should be buried in the park surrounding the library. The second one; The section in the topmost floor, which he fondly called “Amrutham” (life immortalising liquid) should be maintained as it is and none of the books, how much ever old they were, should be removed from that section.

Paul used to personally maintain “Amrutham” . Raju, 40 years of age, would succeed Paul as the main care-taker of the “Mother” and would personally maintain “Amrutham”. A day after the demise of Paul Chacha the entire town had gathered to pay its last respects. The venue was again a natural one – the Beach. After reading out the eulogy, Raju addressed the gathering. With a quivering voice, heavy heart and wet eyes he began his address. ” Paul Chacha is no more. But his legacy, his “Mother”,will guide us in the right path. “Mother” will inspire and educate the generations to come. Today, I would like to share something which is close to my heart. Most of you, during your visits to the library, have asked me about this. The story behind “Amrutham”. Today I will let you know the fact that Paul Chacha shared with me 15 years ago when he stopped me from committing suicide by jumping off the window in “Amrutham”.

Paul Chacha was then nineteen years old. He was from a very effluent family. At nineteen, he was the sole owner of one of the largest business establishments of the country. He had lost both his parents and his younger sister in a car accident. He could not bear the grief and decided to commit suicide. He came to our town, far away from his city, hoping no one would even recognise him. Fortunately, he chose “Mother” to end his life, which was then a big ill-maintained library. He climbed to the topmost floor and decided to jump off the window. He stood at the edge of the window with his eyes closed. He took a few deep breaths. And then something incredible happened. He inhaled the smell of old books. That scent had in it a life saving essence. It not only saved his life but instilled in him a new desire to live. That very night he completed reading two books. From then on, he never ever thought of ending his lifeHe named that section “Amrutham”  and the library “Mother” from that day. He went back home, sold everything in his possession. He came back to our town, bought the Library and poured every penny at his disposal for the revivification of the “Mother”.  15 years ago, as I was about to commit suicide a voice asked me to stop for a moment and take a few deep breaths. Now you know why I am still alive. “Mother” will never let her children die. Paul Chacha will remain forever alive in our hearts. These are the last few lines that he wrote hours before his demise. I will finish by reading them out for you,

Oh dear “Mother”, thanks for this life.

Happiness, knowledge and inner peace, everything very rife.

Every deep breath of every child, who is ending his life if it looks,

should carry abound the life-saver, the smell of old books.

______________________________________________

6743bc0c-f84c-4b75-b2aa-82bafb353f8e_zps485e2995

This post is written in response to this weeks Wednesday’s prompt “smell of old books” at Write Tribe.

Thoughts Shared

This poem is dedicated to every citizen of my country.

______________________________________

At the stroke of midnight,
after decades of fight,
after years of perseverance,
we gained independence.

Yes, it was tryst with destiny,
it was end of tyranny,
the country craved for freedom and peace,
no longer was the country available for lease.

So many people lost their lives,
mothers lost sons and husbands were lost by wives.
Sacrifice for the Mother Nation was regarded to be pure,
they died happily, thats one thing for sure.

How worthy is their sacrifice?
Are we aware of the freedoms’ price?
for we are plagued by a lot of problems still,
there are many daemons in us to face the kill.

Yes we have come a long way,
we have progressed in many areas to say,
we still need to fight ourselves now,
our country should look as beautiful as in our anthem, we must vow.

Two healthy meals a day, if each citizen can afford,
that is the day we make our Mother Nation proud.
let us find ways to unite rather than divide,
we must empower ourselves, for at stake is our pride.

Succes is not how many homes we own,
success is not how many Malls in the map are shown,
success is still far-fetched, let me tell you why so,
if we were successful, why has rupee fallen so low?

To develop we don’t need sacrifices,
we need to be ready for small compromises.
Every time we should place country ahead of us,
for when our mother is happy, we have nothing to fuss.

Let us be on par with any in technology.
at the same time let us work towards getting a kind-worded eulogy.
In future when ISRO’s HD imaging satellites scan Nations’ every mile,
I want every Indian to be captured sporting a bright smile.

________________________________________

write-over-the-weekend-blogadda

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Feel the pain

1195437010267403083johnny_automatic_sad_dog_with_a_broken_leg.svg.hi

Image Courtesy: http://www.clker.com

______________________________________________

When I was young, I had got used to a very bad practice. I used to hurl stones at street dogs whenever and wherever I used to see one. One day I saw a street dog at close proximity. I quickly gathered the nearest stone, which was quite a big one, and hurled at it. The stone hit it right at the knee joint of one of its legs. The dog gave out a very painful cry and ran limping. A sudden felling of remorse had befallen me. It was as though I felt the pain along with the dog. I feared that I might have permanently injured the dog. I cried myself to sleep that night. The next day I searched for the dog everywhere. Finally I found it playing amidst a pack of dogs. It was not limping. I thanked the almighty and decided that never again will I repeat such a gruesome act.

________________________________________________

This is an article written in response to the Daily Prompt.

In my heart of hearts

I was a student of primary school then. It was the time of the annual examination. That day, we had the Science exam. I was an above average student. I had never indulged in any of the wrong means to secure good results. I was always self-dependent. I always believed in my strengths. Two days before the Science exam, fever beckoned me. I did try to muster the best of preparations from my side. On the day of the exam I was still subjected to the after effects of the antibiotics prescribed by the doctor. The exam was for two and half hours. The first two hours and fifteen minutes went on fine. Though I had performed reasonably well till that time, so much so that I would end up getting about 75% marks, I felt bad that I could not make it to 80%, which was my usual target. I did not know the answer to any of the other questions. I just sat in my allotted seat, revising the answers and giving final touches to the diagrams. Every now and then I would lift my head and get a overall view of what is happening in the exam hall.

There was this one question, that I had left, asking for a neat labelled diagram of a Human Heart, which I knew partially. In one of my occasional observations of the classroom, I accidentally happened to look into my friend’s paper and fortunately or unfortunately he was answering the same question. I looked at his diagram, and the next moment without my knowledge, I began to copy it. There was a catch though. He was drawing a completely different version of the diagram, different from the standard diagram available in the textbook. Nevertheless, I copied it and felt happy that I will be able to touch 80% this time too. I submitted the paper right after this happened and left the exam hall five minutes earlier. Nothing happened to me that day, except that I was happy about how things had transpired.

The next day when the paper was being discussed, I came to know that my friend, my saviour, was the only person who had drawn the different version of the diagram. Somehow, I could not gather the courage to stand up and announce that even I had done the same. Now, I was in a dilemma. The teacher, who knew the fact the my friend was the only one who had drawn the different version, would be sure that I had copied it when she would valuate my paper. More than the fear of being caught, I felt very sad that the teacher, who had a very good opinion about me, will now look down upon me. It hurt where it hurts the most, the fear of losing one’s integrity.

The ensuing week, which was also the first week of the summer holidays, after the incident, to this date, has been the worst in my life. I couldn’t understand whether I was sincerely sorry for what I did or just that I was feeling bad I couldn’t lie and solve the problem. I was lost and I felt haunted by the treachery I had committed. Fever relapsed, and I was bed ridden for a week. I was all the time alone, resting in the bed, which meant that my mind was stuck with the same thoughts appearing again and again. Mom and dad easily noticed the change in my behaviour. They could make out the difference between me being ill and me being ill and lost, though all I did was sleep the entire day. They asked me, one day, as to what was the matter. I began to tell the truth, and once I started, I realised how, on certain occasions, muscles of the eye push more of the transparent white liquid down the cheeks, the more you are trying to resist it. My father smiled after I was done narrating my tale, gave me a warm hug, which I felt, even though I was already warm with fever. He said that on the day of the results he would talk to the teacher and explain.

I was asked to confess to my friend and apologise. I did it on the day of the result. I was always a hefty guy, but I felt so light that day. School reopened. I ran into the teacher, who knew a secret of mine now, in the corridor one day. She gave a smile and said ” Your heart is just fine, full marks for what you have done.” I understood what she meant. What makes me happy even today is the fact that I have never ever repeated that mistake, and I know for sure that I felt sad because I had done something horribly wrong and not because I could not hush up the whole incident. It gives me a great sense of relief, every time this incident flashes very vividly on the imaginary screen inside my brain, that I did the RIGHT thing.

——————————————————–

doright-stories-banner

I am sharing my Do RIght Stories at BlogAdda.com in association with Tata Capital.