Summer vacation was about to start and my pocket-sized brain was managing a massive brainstorming session for the holidays. Hitting the ground for an early morning cricket game was a good option while sleeping till 9, was not a bad thought either. My thoughts were in oscillation until a tap on the head broke the momentum; it was my elder brother. Meanwhile, Dad enters and announces that we will be visiting our native place this holiday. Well, to make it more generic and let you feel the moment, his exact words were “Dadi ke ghar jana hai iss chutti”. Hearing that I was so delighted, my heart floated away in the river of ecstasy.
Stories are like a box in which we keep segments of memory holding our best/worst moments. Sometimes fiction, sometimes reality and a few times of ‘fictality’.
In this world filled with false pride, we often see people going for the price instead of the value of things. People like expensive things without even thinking about it logically. For example, everyone likes gold and diamonds because it is not available in abundance, hence expensive and not because of its absolute desire. Leave the rocks and metals aside, people have even started developing a taste for fancy delicacies. Among friends, some have started to restrain themselves from ordering Bhajiya or Samosa whereas they are certain to order a Pizza or Burger.
At the mere age of 4, a kid barely has knowledge of anything. Rather, has his own interpretation of the world, pushing against imaginative and physical limitations and constantly re-creating the world as they see it. Well, I was also one among those who had his own stories to recite.
My childhood was like a mini-tour even though my father never served in the army. He was a teacher in a private school of Dimapur, a place in Nagaland. I’m sure many of you must be having some strange perception about this place. At least, my friends from the later part of my life had. One question which was most commonly asked (among various others) with an at most stupid curiosity, “Do they eat dogs?” Like the all the previous instances, I’m not going to answer it here either.
And the day came to an end. The special day every child use to wait for eagerly. The day dedicated to every child of this universe, “Children’s day”. But then this little girl did not look happy. She was disturbed. It reflected in every single texture of her face.
“Okay students, now everyone tell me what do you want to be when you grow up”, the teacher asked.
“A thief”, a soft sound echoed the class after the whole class was done illustrating the vivid imagination for their future.
“Ma, I’m coming home next week”, exclaimed Rohit
“Really!!” his mother rejoiced
“Yes Ma, my leave just got approved”
“That’s amazing beta, it’s been too long since I have seen you”, his mother sobs
“Have to go Ma, my platoon is leaving for drill”
The third year was on the verge and as per the college curriculum, every student had to undergo one month training. Rohit had a strong political background and that made it easy for him to get a jack anywhere he wanted while I belonged to an upper-middle-class family which meant inconclusive struggle. I managed to get a positive response from a company in my hometown.
Depression is not often believed to be a serious problem and people don’t take it seriously. Well, regardless of your belief nearly 4.4% of the world’s population is suffering from it which hints at a serious problem and I was one among them.
It was half past four in the evening and the hours-long drizzle had almost stopped. A 7-year-old boy, Somesh (Somu) was coming back from bus stop to home with his mother, Suneeta. In the usual school attire, a T-shirt and half pant, walking on the road and striking pebbles coming in his path. Every time he did that, mother scolded him with words like this: “Somu, Agar is baar bhi juta fat gaya na to Papa naya nhi leke denge!!” (“If the shoes get torn again, your father is not going to buy a new one”). Somu replied (in low tone) with a cute smile, “this time it won’t happen”, and again kicked some more stones.