When I was young, very young of nine summers I would go to my nativeland during summer break of my school. But problem would come when I had my return journey back. That day I could the anxiety and unease on my mother’s face. I always thought why my mother made this much of fuss about my return journey. May be I was too young to undertake the pain and heartache of my mother or my dad.

Even for last few springs Bags would be equally fussy on the day of my return journey. I always beheld it too melodramatic. But recently I booked my dad’s ticket to Kolkata. He was to leave for Kol after one and a half year. He is old now and now we take care of him like a young child is behaved with. So on the day of his journey I was extremely anxious. There was a rush. Packing was done. And every now and then I had to make sure that nothing had been left behind to packed. Somehow I could go to drop him off but I sent my younger brother. And I was like, “papa,be vigilant, wallet Sahi se rakhna aap and phone ko raate mein bag mein Rakh dena.” And he was like ” Beta, baccha nh hun main. I am 64 aur 50 Saal se travel Kar raha Hun”. My worry knew no bound . On where is my train app I checked the the train running status every now and then and called him spasmodically.

For the first time he is not at home during my holidays. For the last four years since I started working full time , he was with me in my holidays when I was at home. Today,I am missing him so very badly. He is so much a part of me that I always feel incomplete. His mere shadow works more than anything in my life. A father, friend and brother, mentor and what not. He is Abbu.

I believe we all have a dad like him across the globe. Don’t your heart beat for your dad?

Be it a village or a city, life is complex everywhere. Cries, laughter, nobility and savagery- these are ubiquitous. Flabbergasted I was when I saw a very old lady, so old that she could not get older anymore. Skinny to the moon and back. She looked so white as if she was wrapped in a thin foamy flake. I was walking through a narrow lane when my eyes fell on a small door ajar and that old frail figure enwrapped in snow white skin was washing clothes. I ceased and got frozen there. I could never imagine a lady like her washing clothes. A volley of questions thronged my mind. Whose clothes was she washing? They could not be hers. I could see that she was not able to hold the piece of cloth and thump on the floor. She was panting as if she was on a sprint.

I hid my self behind the wall. I could hear the pendulum people made inside the house. Soon my senses worked and I understood the whole scene.The lady sweating and panting out at the door was not a maid but an old weak mother. A mother discarded like a piece of shit. All the summers, winters, springs and autumns she lived, she did nothing but nourishment. But today it seemed that life is more a folly and less a virtue.

Are mothers around not subjected to the same selfish brutality?

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

Last evening I had my train from Bokaro Steel City Junction. The train which I boarded at Koderma dropped me on time. In the compartment I befriended a man who was also supposed to get down at Boakro. We left the compartment and asked him about the platform wherein my train for Kolkata would arrive. He helped me with the information I needed but he very humanely suggested me to step out the station and have have tea. Outside the station I browsed various shops. I was also hunting a good hotel to have my diner packed for the night. At a stall which sold litti chokha, I saw a boy in his mid twenty with just one hand. His right hand my eyes failed to find. That man was working with his left hand. Taking the order, preparing and parceling were done alone. I was utterly struck. I went to him with my beaming face and ordered a double egg bread ommlette. I said,”Bhaiya thoda jaldi Karna , MERI train hai Avi”. And in a short while I had my parcel. I cannot imagine how my/our life would have been if we were to work with just one hand. But I saw hope and determination in his eyes. Is he not a hero?