What would you say to a ten year old who wants to fly?
Not on feather-wings.
This is the 21st century. Kids know what they are talking about.
He wanted to be a pilot.
Not the pilot of boring passenger airlines.
He wanted to fly real aeroplanes. The fighter planes.
He did not remain ten years old forever.
He grew up to be the topper of his class in 12th standard, science stream.
And is studying computer science in the most reputed engineering college of the country.
Did growing up always mean growing out of your dreams?
Was 'being practical' always synonymous with 'following the herd'?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
the story of a young boy
He had spent his entire life in that gully playing street-cricket and dancing in the rain during Ganesh Visarjan; it was the only home he had ever known. As he looked at his mother's kholi one last time, a tear trickled down his round cheek. The bulldozers had arrived.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Mitali
The golden sky turning blue and then fading into darkness had always been a part of her life. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. Every evening, since as far back as she could recollect, Mitali had found herself sitting on one of the benches lined in front of the park, looking at the familiar saffron disc sink into the lake. The scenery ceaselessly amused her. Soft lavender flowers of deadly water hyacinth that was choking the lake lent an undeniable charm to the beauty of the breathtaking view. The graceful white birds flying in the sky gave her a sense of freedom while the kites hovering far above made her feel uneasy. She loved the brightly colored boats bobbing lazily in the calm waters but the sight of the run-down shed of the abandoned boat-house gave her an eerie sense of loneliness. Soothing sounds of a bell ringing in the Devi-Temple visible on a piece of land jutting into the blue expanse emanated a sense of peace and calm. She felt like a part of the scenery. The sunset could not be complete without her.
She didn’t really do anything while sitting there. Who would want to read a book when there was poetry all around, and the birds never let her miss her walkman. She had made friends with some of the other regular visitors of the park though. Mister Ramanathan always greeted her with a smile and had a special Hersheys Milk Chocolate to offer whenever his son came home on a rushed trip from the US. Mrs. Rathod could be seen power-walking on the walk-way every Tuesday and Thursday. She managed to convey her greetings without a break in the rhythm of her steps, never waiting for a response. Radha and her friends, on the other hand, made it a point to sit and have a long chat with Mitali after they were exhausted with their day’s quota of Chor-Police and I-Spy. They thoroughly enjoyed the treasure trove of stories that Mitali seemed to have amassed. She had endless tales to tell of her various escapades as a child. She told them stories of her adventures in the haunted woods behind the lake and of the fishing trips with her friends. In the rains, she taught them how to make sturdy paper boats that didn’t topple while flowing in the gushing water of the nallah. The children were her favorite company. They reminded her of the best times of her life.
Mitali was born normal; a healthy 3 kilo baby with patches of golden-brown locks all over her round head. Her uncle still called her Goldilocks. She was the liveliest and the prettiest kid in the locality, an apple of her parents’ eye. The only child of her parents and the youngest of the grandchildren in her extended family, she was used to being under a spotlight at most times. Leadership came naturally to her. Being the youngest didn’t deter her from persuading all her cousins into playing wild games she invented. Jumping off the swing while it was at the highest point in its trajectory was one of her favorites. Being stronger than she looked, she never hesitated in picking a fight with children older and bigger than her. When she started going to school, she was the teachers pet and the naughtiest girl in school, all rolled up in one bundle of boundless energy. Sports like basket ball and hockey came easily to her. With a healthy team spirit and an athletic body, she was the first choice for any girls’ sports team in school. She never stood first in class, but clearing her courses was never a problem. Life seemed like a deam come true.
Like scores of other young boys and girls in Bombay, Mitali too went to college in a local train. A first class pass on students’ concession and a walkman on her father’s consideration got her through the long journey from the suburbs to the hub of the elite – St. Xaviers College of Arts and Sciences. It was the first youth festival she had attended and the Rock-Night was not to be missed. Lost in the rhythm and the energy all around her, she did not feel the time fly past. The yelling and head-banging made her feel high. It was the most memorable night of her life.
On her way back, she got into the first class ladies compartment as usual, and regretted it instantly. At that late hour of the night, she and her friends Lalita and Rohini were the only occupants of the compartment apart from a lanky man who had hopped in as the train left the platform. The girls felt uneasy, but they had no choice, at least till the next station. Finding three well dressed girls cornered, the ruffian decided to take advantage of the situation. Approaching them with a knife in his hand, he demanded that they hand over all their valuables. The girls hesitated, but another look at the glistening blade of the knife dispelled all their doubts and reservations. They handed over whatever money they had in their wallets. Realizing that the next station was approaching, the man started moving towards the door. That is when the gold chain peaking out from under Mitali’s t-shirt caught his attention. He made a jab at her but the excellent reflexes afforded by years of an active lifestyle helped Mitali dodge the attack. The thug lost his balance. He fell out of the moving train, dragging Mitali along. A train running on the adjacent track took the man’s life and Mitali’s legs.
The golden wisps of sunlight had given way to inky blackness of the night. The mosquitoes made it impossible to sit by the grass. It was time. Raghu Kaka was just a phone call away. He was a fast but cautious driver, having been a part of her family since Mitali was a child. Putting an end to his talk with the chanaa vendor, he rushed to take ‘Baby’ home. As the white car turned around the bend, a keen observer could notice a small sticker on the windscreen of the car – Professor Mitali Deb, Humanities Department. Mitali would be back for her sunset, no matter what.
She didn’t really do anything while sitting there. Who would want to read a book when there was poetry all around, and the birds never let her miss her walkman. She had made friends with some of the other regular visitors of the park though. Mister Ramanathan always greeted her with a smile and had a special Hersheys Milk Chocolate to offer whenever his son came home on a rushed trip from the US. Mrs. Rathod could be seen power-walking on the walk-way every Tuesday and Thursday. She managed to convey her greetings without a break in the rhythm of her steps, never waiting for a response. Radha and her friends, on the other hand, made it a point to sit and have a long chat with Mitali after they were exhausted with their day’s quota of Chor-Police and I-Spy. They thoroughly enjoyed the treasure trove of stories that Mitali seemed to have amassed. She had endless tales to tell of her various escapades as a child. She told them stories of her adventures in the haunted woods behind the lake and of the fishing trips with her friends. In the rains, she taught them how to make sturdy paper boats that didn’t topple while flowing in the gushing water of the nallah. The children were her favorite company. They reminded her of the best times of her life.
Mitali was born normal; a healthy 3 kilo baby with patches of golden-brown locks all over her round head. Her uncle still called her Goldilocks. She was the liveliest and the prettiest kid in the locality, an apple of her parents’ eye. The only child of her parents and the youngest of the grandchildren in her extended family, she was used to being under a spotlight at most times. Leadership came naturally to her. Being the youngest didn’t deter her from persuading all her cousins into playing wild games she invented. Jumping off the swing while it was at the highest point in its trajectory was one of her favorites. Being stronger than she looked, she never hesitated in picking a fight with children older and bigger than her. When she started going to school, she was the teachers pet and the naughtiest girl in school, all rolled up in one bundle of boundless energy. Sports like basket ball and hockey came easily to her. With a healthy team spirit and an athletic body, she was the first choice for any girls’ sports team in school. She never stood first in class, but clearing her courses was never a problem. Life seemed like a deam come true.
Like scores of other young boys and girls in Bombay, Mitali too went to college in a local train. A first class pass on students’ concession and a walkman on her father’s consideration got her through the long journey from the suburbs to the hub of the elite – St. Xaviers College of Arts and Sciences. It was the first youth festival she had attended and the Rock-Night was not to be missed. Lost in the rhythm and the energy all around her, she did not feel the time fly past. The yelling and head-banging made her feel high. It was the most memorable night of her life.
On her way back, she got into the first class ladies compartment as usual, and regretted it instantly. At that late hour of the night, she and her friends Lalita and Rohini were the only occupants of the compartment apart from a lanky man who had hopped in as the train left the platform. The girls felt uneasy, but they had no choice, at least till the next station. Finding three well dressed girls cornered, the ruffian decided to take advantage of the situation. Approaching them with a knife in his hand, he demanded that they hand over all their valuables. The girls hesitated, but another look at the glistening blade of the knife dispelled all their doubts and reservations. They handed over whatever money they had in their wallets. Realizing that the next station was approaching, the man started moving towards the door. That is when the gold chain peaking out from under Mitali’s t-shirt caught his attention. He made a jab at her but the excellent reflexes afforded by years of an active lifestyle helped Mitali dodge the attack. The thug lost his balance. He fell out of the moving train, dragging Mitali along. A train running on the adjacent track took the man’s life and Mitali’s legs.
The golden wisps of sunlight had given way to inky blackness of the night. The mosquitoes made it impossible to sit by the grass. It was time. Raghu Kaka was just a phone call away. He was a fast but cautious driver, having been a part of her family since Mitali was a child. Putting an end to his talk with the chanaa vendor, he rushed to take ‘Baby’ home. As the white car turned around the bend, a keen observer could notice a small sticker on the windscreen of the car – Professor Mitali Deb, Humanities Department. Mitali would be back for her sunset, no matter what.
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