A little story –  3 The end? 

This story is in continuation with the previous parts. Please read the two parts, it will definitely make you smile. 

Part 1
Part 2
Thank you. 

All of them moved towards the room. They were silent now and slowly moving so as to cause as little noise as possible. My uncle reached the door and knocked. They went inside with the biggest smile on their face. Congratulations Suresh. You are now a father! They said and the whole family hugged each other. I laid in my mother’s arm and was asleep. My father took me from my mother’s arm and handed me to my Uncle. He was silent, didn’t speak a word. He looked at me for sometime and then said, “We will call her Mudrika.” 

Everyone applauded the name my Uncle had chosen. Nobody ever doubted him or his decisions. The hospital gave us leave the next day and we all headed back to home. It was early morning and Gods had woken up, the ringing bells in the temples marking the start of day. We stopped by the temple near the house. The priest knew us very well. Almost every marriage in the family was arranged by him, every special occasion, every birth was incomplete until he had used his ‘Laal Tika and the Moli, he tied on everyone’s hand.’ By the grace of the gracious God, Lakshmi has come to your house, ‘ and he touched my feet with his head. We asked for permission to leave. At the house everyone was so ecstatic. Nobody slept the previous night except the kids who were too busy absorbing the energy of the previous night. My Grandmother took one look at me and she couldn’t stop herself from crying. She carefully took out some money, waved in circles over me and handed it to my mother. “She is as beautiful as an Angel.”  she commented and welcomed us in the house. So much commotion for someone too young to see the world, I became restless and started crying. But nobody seemed to care. They admired my every movement, everything that I did. But my father, he became too restless seeing me cry. I think he knew what was going inside me. After all, I was his part, an atom of the stature he had acquired in so little time. 

Suresh, or whom I gladly address as Papaji was the youngest and the last Son of my grandparents, so he was adored the most. He was always interested in learning new things and was the best among all his brothers and sisters when it came to studies. He went to the best of schools, best of colleges all by himself. It ran in the family genes. Nobody asked for any help. But they always helped. Suresh(I think I need to address him more respectfully) chose to be a doctor and he became one. The initial days of becoming a doctor are quite difficult. Nobody recognises you until you specialize in something. Papaji(Suresh becomes Papaji here) was always good in reading minds so he became a Psychiatrist. After years of practice, he was the most sought after doctor in the entire city. With Psychiatry, he had some hobbies. He was an excellent Tabla player and a wonderful singer. “I had a huge fan following in College.” he used to tell me whenever we used to get together.

It’s fun. It’s fun talking to people about their talents, about things that bring passion in their eyes, which drips down their mouths in form of words so elegant that they make you fly along with them. 

I always saw Papaji on Sunday evenings. He would switch on the Music System, play Jagjit Singh and would play along the Tabla and sing. He was shocked to core when he saw the death of his favourite singer. 

That day and days after it, our family celebrated my birth with so many occasions. (There must be a DVD lying somewhere in my rack, somewhere.) As I grew up, I realised the world around me, the world outside the world of my family. Many a times I cried, many a times I wanted to shut the doors to my room. But everytime I decided to do something foolish like this, my family was always there to help me. We lived in the same house, the one my grandparents built for us. All of us. Everytime any of us needed anyone, we would just call out. There were happy times, then there were fights.I have seen my parents fight, my uncles fight and even my cousins fight, sometimes over unnecessary things(no, always on unnecessary things.)  Who else fights for tea not served to them in the morning or tearing the homework(this one,  I think that sounds legit). Everyone else used to watch them fight. There’s a saying, we cannot make a blind see what he cannot, so why should one try. They fought when they had no energy left and when they sat down, breathless from the hurling of abuses or utensils or my favourite Red Velvety shoes( God, I loved them), they would realise they wasted some precious time and My Red Velvety Shoes(I must have them in my trunk. I need to stop drooling now) and would hear each one out. My grandfather always said that If one can listen properly, most of the problems won’t exist. And listening for him or for any of us shouldn’t be just the said, it must be the unsaid as well. 

Every Sunday morning, all the ladies in the house would take to cooking the best meals in the house. My mother always scolded me for sitting and not helping me with her work. But everyone else in the house came to my support. I had to bend to her one day when she asked me to do my hair. (I realised that I was more turning into a boy than a girl.). It was not like the males didn’t knew to cook. When my uncles and father would get in the kitchen, they would make something extraordinary (most of the times, except that one time when we had to call the fire department to save us from the fire.) 

One day I was asked at the school to write an essay on what I wanted to be. I approached Papaji who had just came after a heavy day at work. “People take so much stress these days.” He commented while putting down the glass of water I handed to him. “What is it Mudrika?” he asked. Almost as he knew what was going inside me. “I have to write this essay and I don’t know what I want to be.” I said while making circles with my feet on the floor. He opened the buttons of his cuffs, folded his shirt back and held me by my hands. 

Mudrika, this family is something to which we all have given back something or the other in some form. You have seen your Uncles, your aunts, your grandparents, your mother. They all are an inspiration most children lack. Have you ever seen how effortlessly your mother works day and night so that she could make all of us happy, how the eldest uncle manages his business, how the other two uncles have made a name for themselves in politics and academics. Your Aunts are trendsetters for many ladies out there. Do you know your mother was a successful doctor before she left everything for you. The thing is I believe you are capable of everything you want to be, anyone you want to be. People say one must do what their hearts want. I say one must do what can bring a smile to the people you care about the most. We are here for you whatever happens. We will always be happy in whatever you are happy with. Always remember, family comes first and that you must respect your roots. And I think you will be okay. “ He said this to a nine year old who had just asked what she wanted to be. He went outside the room to help my mother with the food. I sat there absorbing every iota of what he had just said. Next day I went to the school and submitted my essay. 

The title of my essay was” I want to be A Scientist. “

He never asked me again what I wanted to be, nor did anyone in my family. But yes, the Sharmaji’s and the Vermaji’s always did. (I always smiled on their question. My grandfather had taught me this while someone asked him what he was doing after his retirement. His answer was hilarious. “I think I might take part in the Olympics this year.” ) 

There were times when I failed. 

Ideal doesn’t work in the real life. You don’t always win. You will fail. You will fail miserably. You will fail so hard that you would want to quit everything. But no matter how hard you fall, you have to stand up, again on your feet. Try again. Fail again. Eventually you will learn. This was the first lesson my father gave me while I was learning to ride a bicycle. Repeated several times when I was shattered during my course of life. 

But he always kept hope in me. Always believed in me when I failed to do so. 

What is a man? A collection of some orderly tissues and cells that together form something concrete or something more. Does the color of skin, the tone of voice or the abnormalities in a person make him someone? Why is it people cry on seeing a dying bird or don’t even blink while ordering to murder hundreds? What makes a man give his life for a nation when he has a family to take care of or makes him work in the scorching heat so that he could feed his family. 

A man is much more than a collection of tissues and cells. In Samkhyan Philosophy, a school of Indian Philosophy, they believe that a man is product of Prakriti – the one unintelligent, unconscious, matter,  ever active and that has three attributes which define its state; and Purusa – which is the consciousness, the soul of the body. The balance between the three attributes found in the Prakriti defines how the person would be.

I believe, a person becomes what his family makes him. A child is a clean slate when he is born. His mind is ‘tabula rasa’. The society, the situations, the people he comes in contact with defines the character he builds over time.

Mahatma Gandhi had once said, “Hate the Crime not the Criminal.” 

No human is at fault when it comes to something not acceptable. Pity is something cruel to a soul. Don’t pity, just try to understand what the person might be going through and you won’t ever be misunderstood. My father Suresh told me this many times. 

I remember his every word of advice, the way he walked, the way he ate. Everything right here in my mind. I have been asked many times do I miss my family. 

Yes, of course I do. But when I see myself sitting here in my room among the top most researchers of the world, I think they must be smiling. 

I have given them a reason to smile. 

This story was a work of Complete fiction. None of the characters are real nor do they bear any resemblance to the real world. But it totally depends on you, the reader, what you want to be real. Every character here can be real or unreal. The only thing that matters is what you take with you when you finish reading this little effort of mine. 

Please do comment and tell me how this was. I am highly grateful to the few people who have admired my work. Your appreciation is something I cannot define in words, although some of you claim I have a way with words. Funny, isn’t it? 

You must be thinking about the question mark in the title. That question mark is something I will leave to the imagination of the reader. If this is the ending you would want or something different. 

Ideals don’t work in the real life. A belief I want everyone of you to take home with you when you finish reading this. 

Thank you for reading till the end. 

A Little Story – 2

This is in continuation with the Part 1. If you may like, you can read it.

Thank You.

Room number 29, the already too tired receptionist told them. My Aunts had managed to prepare some Besan Laddoos, both my parents were too fond of. They had carefully wrapped it in their shawl and the little blankets they had brought along with them. My Uncle adjusted his glasses, there, there it is.

My Uncle was a rugged man. He had long moustaches that sit on his fair face, making him a man of admiration. But he had a beauty far greater than his face could ever show. He was the eldest of all the brothers and sisters in the family and was more of a father to them than their elder brother. He grew up faster than his age. There were too many mouths to feed. Although my grandfather never said anything to him or to anybody about the high toll of work that was falling on him to keep the stomachs and aspirations of everyone full, my uncle thought he should do something to ease him. He had learnt a thing or two about selling things when he would visit his friend who had a flourishing business that ran in their family. He was inquisitive right from the day he could sense and would take interest in anything new that fell upon him. He had quickly made friends with his friend’s father who inspired him a lot. While kids of his age were buying things, he was busy selling them. With every passing day, he honed his skills to perfection, so much that Alok Ji his friend’s father called him a day when he was going back home.
Son”, he said ” I have been noticing you selling those colored stones after school. You are pretty good at it.” 
Yes Sir”,  my uncle said. ” I love selling things. They make me feel someone important. I provide whatever the time demands.” 
“Time? “ Alok ji’s curiosity was now centered around him.
” Sir, at the school, we have our geography lesson. There they teach about the various types of rocks that are found in our city. So I sell rocks when they teach about them. When it is too hot, I buy milk from the vendor next to the school. In it I add sugar which is cheap and also bright colors. The days when I am free I sell them for Rs 5 per pint. And when I am not free, I take the boy who comes to my house for cleaning and make him sell it. He doesn’t take money from me. I give him two or three pints of the sweet milk. Sir with this business I have managed to collect Rs 500 in a week.”
Alok ji was silent on hearing this. He asked, “Would you be interested in doing this at a bigger scale?” 
My uncle was calm, a reaction  unexpected of a boy of his age. He said, “when do we start?” 
He had found what he had to do. School never seemed something that would hold a person like him.
Education is like a drop of color in water. It doesn’t depend what the source was. It colors you anyway.
There was retaliation by my grandparents at first. He was locked in the room, beaten hard, given many things to just keep him away from this idea of his. But nothing worked. He sat down one day with my grandfather while he was on his chair reading the newspaper.
“Papaji”, he said. My grandfather has a habit, if he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t say, but he would always listen.
“Selling things excites me to my very core. Everyday I wake up to devise new ways just to improve myself. I have worked so much on myself Papaji that if this goes in waste, then I would be of no use to you.” he finished and sat near his foot.
My grandfather stood up, went to his study and brought along with him a box that he used to keep his collection of his favourite songs. “I give you this box. You have a month. This box should be full by the end of this month or else you will do as I say.”
Then there was no turning back. My Uncle gave all his time and energy to setting up his work. He had realised while working with Alok ji that he needed to be his own boss, which Alok ji accepted with a smile. He helped him set up a business of his own. He worked day and night. His hard work paid off when he was able to buy a furniture manufacturing factory just outside the city.
Grandfather had cut the ribbon on the day of its inauguration. He had the widest smile that day, his chest had expanded by few inches.
All of them moved towards the room. They were silent now and slowly moving so as to cause as little noise as possible. My uncle reached the door and knocked. They went inside with the biggest smile on their face. Congratulations Suresh. You are now a father! They said and the whole family hugged each other. I laid in my mother’s arm and was asleep. My father took me from my mother’s arm and handed me to my Uncle. He was silent, didn’t speak a word.
He looked at me for sometime and then said, “We will call her Mudrika.” 
I was so filled with gratitude with the response I got on the first part. This is my try to write the next part. I hope all of you like this small piece of work. This type of writing is new to me and I am doing this for the first time.
Please do comment on how this part was, it will be my inspiration to write the next part.
Thank You!

A little story. 

My story is not unique, then why would you be interested in reading it. I won’t tell you this, because then what difference would it make in your life, in my life. To feel something, one needs to perceive it. And yes, I am here to help you perceive a story in which I am not in the lead role, but yes it’s still mine. 

The day was October 25th, the family was worried. The uncles and the aunts ran here and there, there was commotion in the entire house. Rarely it happened that the whole family became excited at a single moment. A series of phone calls were made, the kids were made to sleep, the old given a dose of tea to let them bear the obnoxious amount of energy the house had suddenly collected. 

Suddenly the phone rang and everyone left their work to listen to what the caller had to say. My uncle had received the call. As soon as he hung up, he was showered with questions. He didn’t answer anybody and went closer to my grandfather. He touched his feet and hugged him. 

Congratulations Papa, you are now a Grandfather and with it the whole house burst into laughter and started hugging each other. 

Come on everyone, we need to go to Suresh, he must need us, said my Uncle and took out the only car we had. 

Suresh is the name of my father. Born to a Clerk in the colorful city of Allahabad, he was among the three other sons and two sisters that had come before him. They all lived in the house, my grandfather could manage with his service to his office which did leave him with little time and energy for the family. But he was always there. He attended every function, every parent teacher meeting of his children so that none ever felt left out. Whatever he did, he never brought work to home, his policy was simple, Manage your Work so it doesn’t manage you. 

The car started with a little effort, it seemed as the cold wind had made it lazy. It did wake up from its sleep and so they started heading towards the hospital.  Everyone was smiling, their face glowing with beaming happiness. The females were too busy in deciding the things to do, the males quietly listening. The streets of Allahabad that day looked different. The usual people were not there as the Sun was still asleep. They reached the hospital and asked for Suresh.

Room number 29, the already too tired receptionist told them. My Aunts had managed to prepare some Besan Laddoos, both my parents were too fond of. They had carefully wrapped it in their shawl and the little blankets they had brought along with them. My Uncle adjusted his glasses, there, there it is. 

To be continued…. 

This will be a series of little stories that I will make according to the response I get from the previous one. 

Please do Comment if you want to see more of this. 

Thank you 

Have a great time. 

An Empire in the making…..

He lacked the cement,
She lacked the supports,
Together they built the biggest empire,
For the world to see,
It didn’t start well,
Many a times it fell,
Sometimes the cement, 
Sometimes the supports,
But they kept going,
Every night, 
Every day,
They woke up, 
Buried the day before,
Sometimes they broke,
Wanted to separate,
Sometimes the cement,
Sometimes the supports,
Kept them together,
Kept them moving,
The plan didn’t work out well,
The ground shook,
The Empire fell down,
Salvaged their pieces.
Started again,
The world would laugh,
See the crazy peeps,
They would say,
He was hurt,
She was hurt,
They both were hurt,
But the cement was strong,
The supports rigid,
They worked day,
They worked the night,
Sometimes when it rained,
Or the snow would fall,
Festivals were a distraction,
Lights were too expensive,
An Empire was in the making,
One day they made something beautiful,
A life, moving hands and those cute eyes,
Oh, I am not hungry,
One would say to other,
One day or the other,
The life grew like a plant,
The cement was strong,
The supports rigid,
One day it became a tree,
With roots strong, 
With branches that could support,
They both sat together,
On a Sunday morning,
A cup of tea, some cookies too,
Looked at each other,
Bodies not too strong,
Eyes that needed glasses,
Looked upto the tree,
Congratulations! The Empire is complete….

It’s hard for me and many people like me to say things out loud. This blog gives me something which is definitely difficult to explain in words. 

For a long time I wanted to say these lines for my parents. The way they toiled so that their sons could shine. 

This little piece cannot ever compare to what they did for us children. But then we mustn’t let our feelings go down the drain, something I was taught everytime. 

This little piece is for all the parents out there, who struggle everyday with their lives and yet come home to a smiling face, just to see their kids. 

And as they say to us brothers everyday, We are the Empire they have built over the years,

This is for my, Yours and everyone’s Amma and Papa…. 

ना जाने क्यूँ…..

साथ जब तुम होते हो,
वक़्त भी ख़ामोशी से बदल जाता है,
नदी में जैसे गिरा हो कोई टूटता तारा,
मध्धम मध्धम रफ़्तार तेज़ सी जैसे हो जाती है,
कुछ धड़कनें मेरी भी,
ना जाने क्यूँ ,
ना जाने क्यूँ………

Translation won’t do justice to this but I will try. 

Whenever you are with me,
Time changes silently,
Like a Star that has fallen in a river,
Gently gently it’s speed  increases,
A few heartbeats mine too,
I don’t know why,
I don’t know why…..


Trains bring out the common in us. They don’t distinguish between any because at the end of the journey we all are passengers…

I remember the school days when we were told the duration of our summer vacations. The excitement was so much we couldn’t wait to tell our parents that the vacations would start soon. With vacations came time when we would go away from the mundane or maybe stay at home doing nothing. Flights were for the affluent back then and none of us had ever seen an aircraft for real. One of those days my father came upto me and showed me a ticket to my cousins. I jumped like a spring and started shouting. We will go in the train! We will have this for lunch! Let me take out my red Bag! I would say and then used to start bugging my mother who would shoo me away as she had other works to do. Haha. 

Then the journey would come and we would leave the house, lock it, assured that it will take care of everything we leave in it. We will board the train and me and my brother would be hungry already. We always kept on asking our mother that we should have the lunch because that fragrance of Aloo-Puri would make the mice in our stomach punch us hard. My father came in to help my mother in this. He would point at something out the window which used to grab our attention for a lot longer. The tracks that laid along our train would make our imagination run wild. The first thing I ever imagined was what if a car runs on these tracks. Will it able to run? Or will it slip? ( I still do the same. Haha) Then we would wait for another train to go screeching past ours. We tried waving to the ones in the other train but they seemed to run so fast that most of the times our heads would go all round and round. With occasional questions from our parents when the train would start, we would be busy looking out the window. A slight jerk and the train would start. The sight of people and things going back would amaze me everytime I would see a train moving forward. I always used to pack in my bags the things I would do during my journey on a train. My father had always made it a habit to bring along with me a diary and a pen so that I could note down anything I wanted to remember later.

I was amazed by how a single engine would carry along with it the many bodies attached to it. I would feel sometime bad for the Engine as it had to carry my burden. But then, I was quickly diverted to a farm field going past the train. In the earlier days of my childhood we travelled mostly in the sleeper class of the Indian Railways and for those who don’t know, sleeper class doesn’t have a glass that covers the entire window.

It is open so that you can feel the air, the aroma of the surroundings and the sound the many things make when a train gushes past them. The best thing about these coaches was that whenever a train would take a curve, one could see the entire train. I used to kiss the rails on the window just to see how a train looks like when it is taking a curve.

Whenever a tunnel would come, me and my brother used to look at each other and all the other present. We would run that joke in our minds which told of a similar funny situation like this. My parents would guess what we were thinking. They would smile and look at us.

Whenever we travelled and we didn’t get a window seat, our hearts would be broken. We would look down our seats just to have a glimpse from which location the train is passing. Once a while a vendor would come carrying a bucket filled with all types of chips, cakes and chocolates. Me and brother would share a look. Then we again would continue the magical experience.

When you sleep in a train, you could hear the slipping of wheels on the rails, even when the train changes tracks. I had this wild imagination that if the train would derail, I would jump onto save my brother and parents, carry them in my arms(I used to watch Shaktimaan a lot) and would as well carry my red Bag. Haha. I would break open the roof of the train. I tried experimenting once or twice when I got the upper berth. But to my disappointment, it was very difficult.

Travelling by trains is an exhilarating experience. You get to know about the things you see mostly pictures of. The yellow fields bearing crops of mustard, cars waiting in line for you to cross, bridges built over mighty rivers, the smell of sugarcane being turned into jaggery, the many voices trying to sell you things on the journey, everything and many more. Trains offer an experience that is far more difficult to explain than any words can ever do. 

I prefer travelling by trains or by roads most of the times because they let me feel the air I am traveling in, something flights deprive you of. But then, everything has a role to play.

My journey would be incomplete without a train or a road because the coming of train onto a platform for you to board is the most satisfying thing I can ever imagine.

Trains bring out the common in me. They don’t distinguish between any because at the end of the journey we all are passengers… 

Do you prefer a journey by Train..?

I am only Human…. 

When she waves her wet hair in the air. 
Life seems divine. 

She closes her eyes to sleep. 
I cannot close mine. 

She wakes up to the day. 
I wish the Sun could get up a little late. 

She brings the kettle to boil. 
Adjusts that naughty hair behind her ear. 

Opens up the curtain. 
The rays make her golden. 

That little pin that rests between her lips. 
The little dot of water that slides down her cheek. 
The way she looks at that scene that frightens her. 
I wish I could be every and everything that stays with her. 

But then I am only human……