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English Short Stories

English Stories

  • The Rring -हरेकृष्ण आचार्य The Aeroboard was not as fast as the imagination, so it took some time to reach the places.That it did not touch the ground but floated a feet above ...
    Posted Dec 9, 2016, 11:52 PM by A Billion Stories
  • Dead -देवसुत Ram Kishan Sharma was a typical example of a poor teacher. Underpaid and exploited by the school management with work overload but at the same time, his name and great ...
    Posted Nov 17, 2016, 7:38 PM by A Billion Stories
  • The snails and the caterpillar -हरेकृष्ण आचार्य Once upon a time there was a snail, with a big shell around his back. There was only grass around him when he started walking. After a while he met ...
    Posted Oct 19, 2016, 6:34 PM by A Billion Stories
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The Rring -हरेकृष्ण आचार्य

posted Dec 9, 2016, 11:52 PM by A Billion Stories

The Aeroboard was not as fast as the imagination, so it took some time to reach the places.
That it did not touch the ground but floated a feet above, gave the advantage of moving much faster than just walking.
For walking such a distance would take so much time that the motivation to reach itself would die considering the increasing impatience with slower modes of transport.
The distance also would appear so much, only to allow the imagination to work its way, in constructing what was desired to be reached.

The city seemed far, but the distance melted due to the speed reached by the Aeroboard.
The rocky desert stretched far enough for the heat to work its way through me.
The heat became tolerable only due to the wind speed generated by the Aeroboard.
The desire was to reach the city skyline but not enter it, so the Aeroboard stopped accordingly.
The aeroboard understood my contemplation and squared off my desire with it to arrive at the perfect place of tranquility.

from here, where?

and then i saw the rains coming to the forests in the distance which kindled the desire to see the downpour on the trees.
The aeroboard sped towards the treeline. the desire was not to get soaked, so the Aeroboard stopped only to jump up high into the clouds - which was what the desire was.

The sea of cotton clouds hid a rainbow beneath and the wish to get a shower increased, thereby lowering the Aeroboard under the clouds for a brief moment till I saw a sunlit garden of flowers.
While the clouds did not disappear, the opening in them, made the Aeroboard lead me to the garden where the trees rose humongously into the sky, reached perhaps only by a Brontosaurus.

The Aeroboard learnt to stay still, for me to hear the chirps of the various birds feeding their children in the trees, when a roar aroused fear, and the birds flew in fright arriving at the tree again after a doing circle. the Aeroboard too rose in height carrying me with it to ward of any danger. It reflected the caution in me though there was no fear.

Interestingly there were no people around. did that reflect my desire too?
I also did not see any cars or people in the city. That was strange!
and this was a truly fantastic world.

That said, a faint ring was heard in the distance. the slight sound grew louder - slowly reaching a level causing pain in the ear and an, abhorrence intolerable. The Aeroboard suddenly disappeared and the only thing that could be heard was a loud Rring.

The "Aeroboard" video game was programmed to end the immersive reality with a "Rring" to push the gamer out into the real world. Anything greater than 10mins would make the gamer irrecoverably lost to the other world. Physical death though, had never been reported. That the gamer's conciousness played in the other world while his body rested in deep sleep was something to research about. Better ways to get the consciousness associated back with the body were being studied. Meanwhile, the 10 min immersive reality game "Aeroboard" was becoming a hit and a new source of revenue for entertainment giants.




-हरेकृष्ण आचार्य

Photo by:
Submitted by: हरेकृष्ण आचार्य
Submitted on: Mon Sep 05 2016 00:00:00 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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Dead -देवसुत

posted Nov 17, 2016, 7:38 PM by A Billion Stories

Ram Kishan Sharma was a typical example of a poor teacher.

Underpaid and exploited by the school management with work overload but at the same time, his name and great qualifications used by the same management to enhance the name of the school to garner more fees from the next batch of students.

Ram Kishan Sharma was poor, not because of his incapacity of thought or work, but simply because he pardoned many who trampled over his aspirations, and did not take offence when someone just usurped his achievements and put his own name on it.

Ram Kishan Sharma was a typical nice guy, as well as a great teacher - to his students who just adored him, for his teaching of complex concepts would be done in a most simple way. That he was popular with his students, gave another reason to raise the fee by the school management.

It was a great hypocrisy to see plays conducted on great people by the students, encouraged by the management, during the annual day event every year. People such as Radhakrishna, Sir M. Vishweshawariah, who worked selflessly for India would be routinely portrayed, whereas living greats, such as Ram Kishan Sharma, who lived in their midst, alive and kicking, were exploited and unrecognized.

It was only many years later, that came as a surprise, that there was a play depicting Ram Kishan Sharma as a great teacher, at the school's annual day, by one of his students, who had now grown up enough to recognize the contributions to his life by his teachers. The play ended with a huge applause for the performing group and a citation by the same principal who had very well known Ram Kishan Sharma.

Why did it take such a long time to know Ram Kishan Sharma?

On inquiry it was found that, quite some time back, he left his quite easily curable Tuberculosis, untreated due to poor financial conditions. He was now - Dead.


-

Photo by:
Submitted by: देवसुत
Submitted on: Thu Oct 20 2016 21:25:45 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Story
Language: English


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The snails and the caterpillar -हरेकृष्ण आचार्य

posted Oct 19, 2016, 6:34 PM by A Billion Stories

Once upon a time there was a snail, with a big shell around his back. There was only grass around him when he started walking. After a while he met another snail and now they were 1+1=2.

They walked for a while when they saw a big green dome in the distance.

They did not know what it was, but kept walking towards it. A little while later another snail met them and they were now 2+1=3.
All of them now walked towards the big green dome which they still did not know what it was.

A little while later, they met another snail with the same big shell on his back. They were now 3+1=4. And they all started walking towards the big green dome which was now very near and they were able to touch it.

Now they came to know that this big green dome was a cabbage. They were all very happy. They kept touching it with joy with their 2 antennas each, making a total of 8 antennas since they were 4 (2 x 4 = 8).

After much fun and joy, they started eating the cabbage and made holes inside it. After a while of eating, they found a caterpillar inside the cabbage which was also eating the cabbage happily.

The caterpillar did not like the snails and he started to argue with them. A fight broke out due to this and the cabbage shook due to the commotion inside. The fight continued.

Up and far on a tree, a bird was watching the cabbage field and noticed the shaking of one of the cabbages. It flew down to this cabbage, looked inside the holes and found the caterpillar. It put in its beak inside the cabbage, caught the caterpillar and flew away with it to feed its baby.

All the snails, 4 of them, went into their shells to protect themselves from the bird. When they came out they saw the caterpillar missing. Not knowing where the caterpillar had gone, they enjoyed eating the cabbage without making noise.

----
How was the story?
Good.
What did you like in the story?
The snails and the cabbage shaking.
How many antennas did the 4 caterpillars have in total?
two fourz are 8.
----

Epilogue:
This story was told to my 6 old son at bedtime. The questions were asked after the story for which he returned the given answers. The story was originally told in Kannada.

-हरेकृष्ण आचार्य

Photo by: Unknown
Submitted by: हरेकृष्ण आचार्य
Submitted on: Wed Oct 19 2016 09:42:56 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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The Roadshow -Dola Dutta Roy

posted Aug 20, 2016, 7:39 AM by A Billion Stories

The Roadshow

Word count – 2942


The lights were blazing in his eyes. Nikhil began to blink. But he liked what he heard. It was a piece of comedy being enacted by two men whose acting skills were pathetic and who laughed before the audience did. But nevertheless, it was entertainment and had attracted a sizable crowd that clapped and cheered surrounding the shabbily raised platform with no props to create the backdrop.
It was Saturday night and the right time to put up a show for those who would otherwise roam the streets or take a pint of local booze with a friend at some odd joint to kill time. Basically, nowhere else to go to but home, and that was not always an exciting idea for most young and old. Home was often a hole where wives nagged, children whined and street dogs barked at moving vehicles and shadows on the wall.

When the clown appeared with the heroine in her hot pink outfit studded with sequins, the crowd swooned. There were whistles and sighs and the heroine didn’t wince but did her bit berating and chiding the crooked clown who took a few somersaults and flips, shedding tears to prove he was mortified. There was laughter all around. Nikhil remained unimpressed and thought that the girl was no patch on Kumari Urmila who did such roles with panache.
He looked at the time. It was past nine and the show would continue for an hour longer. He had already seen it once with Manoj, his buddy at work and his neighbor. But he was in no hurry to go home tonight. His wife Preeti left to be with her parents for some time before she could return with the baby. After all it was their first child. She needed proper care by an experienced woman and who could be better than one’s own mom. He rubbed his tired eyes stifling a yawn.

Suddenly he felt at a loss. There was nothing much to do really. Loneliness was gripping him. He took out his cellphone to give a call to Preeti even though she had told him to call her late at night when she was free to talk. But the crowd around him gave him dirty looks as he tried to speak to her. No cellphone during the show, he was told by a viewer. So he decided to saunter out of the makeshift tent that had a platform for a stage and the viewers squatted on mats on the balding grass in the open. Behind the blank backdrop there was stark reality enveloped in darkness with cloth-made partitions for the performers for privacy.
Nikhil quietly came out in to the clear field with city lights all around. He walked a distance and stopped at a nearby chaat shop and asked for a plate of aloo-tikias or light fried potato cakes. Later he ambled along the row of shacks selling toys and a bit of everything -- checking out things for Preeti and the baby. Then he stopped at a Punjabi dhaba, a little diner by the roadside, with a neon sign that glared. He needed to grab some real food for his meal for the night. Looking around he decided that he was done for the day.
*****

It was a windless night. The electric bulb flickered for a while before it decided to stay on as it did every night when he returned home. It was stuffy inside and the fan did not do its job properly either. Not its fault. There was too much moisture in the air to cut through. The air was thick and heavy in the room. He went and splashed some water on his face and body as he changed from his work clothes to a lungi and a vest. He turned the TV on and sat on the bed to watch it with a glass of water in hand. He thought of Preeti, her slim and lithe body now heavy with life growing inside her. A smile played on his lips thinking of her and their future together with another breathing being in this suffocating room.
He slid down reclining on his bed, his head resting on the pile of pillows behind him. He was not aware of what was happening on the small screen of the TV but his eyes remained locked on it while his mind wandered from Preeti’s tearful goodbye and his growing fears of keeping his job at the factory as a welder. Times were bad. Any day things could come crashing down on the factory owners who had been trying to compete with big names in the country. This could tantamount to the workers losing their jobs and livelihood.

It was first a whisper and then a nudge that woke Nikhil up from his stupor. He could barely keep his eyes open and saw the faint figure of a lissome woman in a red and yellow sari in sequins covering half her face to hide the fact that she was laughing at him. His eyes opened wide and he thought he saw Kumari Urmilla, the alluring girl of last year’s roadshow. She was standing there and swaying with laughter in front of him. He rubbed his eyes. Yes, it was her and he saw her uneven front teeth behind those luscious red lips as she partially unveiled her face.

‘How did she manage to find me and come here?’ was the first thought that struck Nikhil. Yes, the year before when the theatre group had come over with their roadshow, Manoj and Nikhil had both broken all rules to visit the tantalizing prima donna surreptitiously in her dressing room behind the tent, courtesy Brijmohan, the local organizer of the roadshow and Nikhil’s acquaintance. On the third night of their visit in a row to the show Manoj had admitted he was completely smitten by her and had to see her again. He had taken flowers and gifts for her that Kumari Urmila accepted but flung over the metal suitcase that lay at her feet. She gave a mechanical smile that was wide but didn’t reach her eyes.
It was evident that Manoj was besotted with this enchanting beauty and did not waste time to tell her that he had good intentions of marrying her. The next few days found Manoj in a state of euphoria. One evening he begged her to elope with him after the show, promising to give her the world. Urmila’s smile was constant but her eyes moved back and forth from Manoj’s face to Nikhil’s. Nikhil stood there tongue-tied while he could also feel the sudden rise of a desire to grab her when she looked at him longer than she should have. But he had his Preeti and he was a happily married man. He did look away.
Manoj was determined to meet with her every evening till she agreed to accept his proposal. She was the woman for him, he told Nikhil. Nikhil had laughed and slapped his back telling him that women like Urmila were not to be taken home but enjoyed. But surprisingly Manoj didn’t falter in his determination to win her over and when he threatened to speak to the theatre-group owner if Urmila didn’t promise to give him an answer, she relented. She reminded him of the contract she was bound by and sighed and finally with eyes that danced with every syllable she uttered and the movement of her glossy lips, she coyly agreed to accept his offer. Manoj got a ‘yes’ for a secret rendezvous soon with Kumari Urmila to discuss further matters on their plan of action. She promised to see him at a secret spot behind the tent while the show would run on that evening -- of course, courtesy Brijmohan. The day and the time to elope was to be fixed just before the theatre group moved out of town and she got her money in hand.
However, there was only one hitch. Manoj had night shift to take care of for a few days and begged Nikhil to pick up the details from her on his behalf as a good friend. That particular night, Nikhil kept his word as Manoj was busy at the factory.
Kumari Urmila was waiting with a hand written note for Manoj. From behind her dark shroud that covered her from head to toe, she gave a luscious smile as Nikhil came closer. Before he knew it she took his hand and told him flatly that she would like to run away from it all with him instead. Nikhil stood there thunderstruck for a while as she begged him to take her away that very moment.
When he found his tongue, Nikhil stuttered saying that she was mistaken. It was Manoj who wanted to be with her and that he himself was a married man. Kumari Urmila broke down crying and pleading with him saying that she only had eyes for him and not Manoj. She begged him to rescue her from the hell she was in where she performed just to entertain others. Nikhil stood still. A few moments seemed like eons. It was when the bell rang loud and clear that Kumari Urmila woke from her trance. She left his hand and tore the note she had written for Manoj and flung the pieces on Nikhil’s face. Her eyes glinted like burning embers. Two days later the troop left town.
Every bit of this flashed through Nikhil’s mind and he wondered what made Urmila return and that too to him. Manoj never spoke of her again since she left with the theatre group to some unknown destination. He drowned his hurt pride in bottles of local booze that made him vulnerable but belligerent.
*****
“What are you doing here?” Nikhil could barely hear his own voice. In the faint light in the room Urmila looked devastatingly alluring. She laughed and moved a step closer. “Nothing,” she said. “Just came to see you.”
“Me?” Nikhil felt fear rise through his spine. He gave her a scornful glance, as if she was a witch. “Do you know what you’ve done to Manoj?”

Urmila stopped midway. Her eyes were pinned on his angry face and were filling slowly with tears. She stood there and shook her head. “I didn’t want him. I wanted you,” she whispered. There was still a subdued recklessness in her tone.
“But I didn’t want you.” Nikhil sounded cruel.

He sat up and looked at Urmila’s soft and sad face. How strange, suddenly he felt pity for her. He got on his feet and tried to move towards her. But Urmila moved away.
“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I mean, Manoj is my friend and I….I am a married man. My wife has gone to have a baby.” She gave a quick look at him with a blank expression that verged on contempt.

His conscience flared up again. “Anyway, how did you find me here?” he asked in a monotone trying to maintain a cordial distance to avoid misunderstandings.

“I can find anybody if I want to,” Urmila flashed an enigmatic smile.
Nikhil said nothing. He knew some wounds are very slow to heal. Has Urmila gone mad to come looking for him from wherever she had been!
He looked at her face in the light and shade of his dimly lit room. His gaze wandered over her. He found the door shut behind her. He was slowly getting consumed by a feeling of inadequacy creeping up inside staring at this intoxicating and colourful blend of fantasy and reality. He was not sure if he could trust himself.

“Has she really come for me?” He thought to himself. “Does she really want me that much?” He took a step forward. Urmila studied his moves with feline watchfulness. She waved a hand daintily at him but her eyes wore a mournful look. Half scared of the predicament he was in, Nikhil stood still. He reverted to his sullen mood and with the wave of his hand, told her to leave.

Suddenly the sari that was covering her face dropped and in the faint glow of the capricious light bulb, charred remains of her facial skin and body, neck down, caught Nikhil’s eye. He gave out a cry and fell to the ground. Urmila was stupefied to silence and staggered backward resting her back on the door. She stood there for a moment like a bodiless, weightless being giving out almost inaudible moaning sounds. For a second Nikhil thought he saw her stretch her arm where bangles dangled and before he saw anything else, he lost consciousness.
********

Nikhil woke up to a roomful of people. Manoj was slapping him hard and when he opened his eyes, he scowled.
“What happened to you?” Manoj sounded worried. “I was returning home from the night shift and thought of swinging by your place. The door was ajar and you were lying on the floor. You sure had too much to drink last night, didn’t you?” He frowned. An elderly lady took a mug full of water and splashed it all over Nikhil’s face wetting his clothes.

“She was here.” Nikhil gave a blank stare at Manoj as he whispered.
“Who was?” Manoj squinted.
“She….” Nikhil looked at the crowd in his small room where the night light was still on.
Manoj looked at everybody and requested them to leave them alone assuring them that he would take care of the situation. He made Nikhil sit on the bed and faced him sitting on a broken armless chair. “Now will you tell me the truth?” Nikhil seemed still in a daze. Slowly he recounted what had happened the previous night. He broke down to tell Manoj the facts about Kumari Urmila’s passion for him.

“I couldn’t believe that she would find me here and at a time when I was alone and feeling lonely. And that face and body burnt up on one side -- that was terrible.” He covered his eyes to wipe out the memory of it. “Why did she come here?”
“She wasn’t here.” Manoj sounded gruff.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. She wasn’t here. She couldn’t be here. You just dreamed her up.”
“I saw her, Manoj.” Nikhil sat up.
“Look, she left long time back with the troop.” Manoj stretched himself in the broken chair.
“Perhaps she came back with the roadshow this time too. We just haven’t seen her.”
“She hasn’t and she cannot.” Manoj looked angry now.
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.”
“How, Manoj, how can you be so sure?”
“Because I know she couldn’t return. That bitch died some months ago.”
Nikhil’s eyes were wide open. “What are you saying? Died? How?” Those burnt patches on her face and body, those woeful eyes! Suddenly Nikhil wanted to puke. When he came back from emptying out his stomach, Manoj sat quiet and sad for some time looking at him. Then he looked up and said, “Well then, if you really must know, she died exactly three months ago. She was charred to death.” There was a cruel grin on his face.” Even in death that bitch longed for someone else when I promised her the moon.”
Nikhil gave out a gasp of horror and covered his mouth.
Manoj got up and turned off the light that was burning with shame as the sun streamed in through the window.
“When….. Where and how?” Nikhil took time to spell these words out.
“There was a fire in her tent when they took the show to Ramnagar. It was a hot month and the air was dry by the highway. Something caught fire and that was it.” Manoj gave an indifferent shrug. Nikhil just gave a blank nod of understanding. He couldn’t take his eyes off Manoj’s grim countenance.
“Who told you that?” Nikhil asked after a pause.
“Nobody did, I was there.” He gave a wry smile. “Remember I took leave for three days in the middle of summer? That was when I decided to go looking for her. I kept track of her moves…. wherever they were performing.” Manoj got up and took a glass of water from the pitcher left in a cool corner. He wanted to know if Nikhil wanted a drink of water. Nikhil just shook his head even though his mouth was going dry.
Manoj came back and sat next to him on the bed. Very confidentially and with much conviction he said, “She was sleeping in her cot when the fire broke out and before she could do anything, her side of the tent fell on her and she was consumed by the hungry flames.”
“Then?”
“Then what? The police came and some people were taken to the nearby hospital. She died on the way.” Manoj helped himself to a cigarette from Nikhil’s packet on the bed. “The bitch never came to me. Even in death she wanted to be with you.” He gnashed his teeth as he struck a matchbox.
“Do they know what caused the fire?” Nikhil stuttered.
“Don’t think so. They blamed it on the lamps burning low and the stormy winds.” His big belly jiggled as he laughed mirthlessly.
“How do you know all that?” Manoj gave a scathing look.
“I should….. I caused the fire on her side of the tent.” He blinked. “No more roadshows for her….. no more betrayal. ” He caught his belly and roared with laughter, his body shaking with ripples all over.
******************* THE END ********************






-

Photo by:
Submitted by: Dola Dutta Roy
Submitted on: Thu Jul 21 2016 21:16:16 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Fiction-An Imaginary Story
Language: English


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Drop him home -देवसुत

posted Aug 22, 2015, 10:22 AM by A Billion Stories

It was not that beautiful a day. The air was also not very pure.
Just a drizzle had made the roads muddy. The smell of burning tyres that were used to make warm poor neighborhoods had made the breeze pungent.

Local elections had sparked communal tensions. Saffron or green evoked strong reactions. The walkway around the lake however, was used by all. The breeze was better, the blue sky was visible and the green hustling leaves were so peaceful. Clouds were running past high above. Ducks roosted in the shallow waters while cranes standing on one leg napped while fishing.

It was the son who wanted to go out around the walkway.

He got ready, wore a saffron lungi and took his son for a walk in the breeze. The stars had not started shining yet, though the sun was below the horizon and the shadows had disappeared. The sound of a distant train horn set many cranes flying. The son jumped with ecstasy, spread his hands and flew with the cranes. Seeing his son he did the same and flew with his son. He did not see the man in the green shirt coming near with a knife.

In the pain that tore through his back and into his heart, he turned, grabbed the man's left wrist with his left iron hand while from his right he grabbed his son's hand. Placing his son's hand into the man's, he said "Drop him home". After his right hand was free, he placed it on the man's forehead and said "Alla rakha" before he dropped to the ground.

The man was shocked but dropped the child home. He was never again found in the neighborhood. The child's mother filed a murder report in the local police station. The next day, the child's mother's cousin sister filed a missing person report.

It has been 20 years since I lost my father. He still flies with me whenever I fly with the cranes as the sky goes saffron when the sun goes down the horizon. The green hustling leaves hear our merry laughs.



-देवसुत

Photo by: Pradeep Sahoo
Submitted by: देवसुत
Submitted on: Sat Aug 22 2015 21:37:54 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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THE WAYFARER -Dola Dutta Roy

posted May 25, 2015, 11:35 PM by A Billion Stories   [ updated May 29, 2015, 10:04 AM ]

THE WAYFARER

By Dola Dutta Roy, Kolkata.

There was a light rap on the front door. Ratna was putting the weekly groceries away when she first heard the knock. By the time she managed to get past the bulging grocery bags mounted on the floor, the rap grew desperate. "Coming," she said. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and went through the little passage that came between the kitchen and the drawing room to get to the main door. She was still not very sure of her bearings around the house they just moved in a couple of weeks back.

Shankar had managed to find the place through a broker before Ratna arrived from Delhi with Shuvam, their four-year-old son. She didn't much care for the neighborhood. It was in the outskirts of the main city in a deserted part of Calcutta’s new satellite town called Salt Lake which still had just a few small cottages on little patches of green. Some of them were coated with layers of cement waiting for a fresh coat of paint.

"Couldn't you get your broker to find a better place for us?" Ratna had asked Shankar. "This place is so far from the main city that I feel scared to step out because I know I won't be able to find my way back again." She had pouted.
"That is precisely why I like this place," Shankar had said with a mischievous grin. "Maybe, I don't want you to step out and get lost. I certainly don't want to lose you."
"Can't you ever be serious? I am serious. This place gives me the creeps. I am sure I'll never be able to find my way back if I went out. And I want you to know that I am not one of those to sit around the house and just do nothing. Once Shuvam starts school, I would like to do a few things on my own. I want to move around, Ok, Mr?”
Ratna came close to run her fingers through his hair. “Now will you ask your broker to find us a place in a more civilised part of the world?"

Shankar looked pleased and pampered. He said nothing. He lit a cigarette and was aware that Ratna was truly displeased with the selection of their home in this new town. But he liked the small two-storied house he managed to get with great difficulty, with a terrace and also a bit of green at the back to grow flowers and vegetables. There was an aura about the place. It had a sense of history and mystery.

They said the owner of the house was a public servant and with his life’s savings he had built this house but couldn’t enjoy it because of his son’s tragic death. So the family moved out and rented out the place. Living in a big city like Calcutta had never been Shankar’s dream. He had grown up in suburbia with a lot of space around where there were trees to house koyels and mainas. Besides, practically speaking, rents around this area seemed more reasonable than in areas close to the city centre. They would have to pay triple the amount for a tiny hole in Ballygunge or Lake Gardens. But how does he make Ratna see that! He too hated commuting everyday through congested areas with revolting body odours and filth enveloping him. Which is why at the end of the day, he was happy to come back to a place that was quiet and stench free. It was like heaven to him.
But Ratna was different. Coming from a clean and buzzing area like Alaknanda in New Delhi, she complained about feeling insecure in a lonely place with no friends around.

The rap on the door grew more intense.

"Coming, baba, coming. What's the hurry?" Ratna was a little annoyed at the fact that Parvati, the maid had left to pick up Shuvam from the neighbor's playground leaving her to do the cleaning up in the kitchen and answering doorbells. The local grocer had delivered the package some time back and she was hoping Parvati would give her a hand in putting all the stuff away. Somehow the heat in the city drove her to madness to the point of being listless and lazy.

Ratna unconsciously ran her fingers through her hair to tidy it a bit and mopped her face with the end of her dupatta. It could be Shankar. He hated to wait outside the door for too long. She looked at her wristwatch. There was yet some time for Shankar to return home. He usually got back around seven and it was not yet six. She hoped that it wasn't any vendor ringing the bell to sell something. There always seemed to be an endless race of them moving from door to door to offer their fares to bored housewives.
She opened the door gingerly.

"Sorry to bother you, Ma'am," said a young man in his twenties. He looked tired and kind of anxious. Ratna tried to think if she had ever seen him. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt with thin checks on it. His hair was untidy and a night-old growth on his face gave him a scruffy look. She was trying to get used to the way Bengalis looked and behaved in this part of the world. They were ever so polite and respectful towards women, she thought.
"I am sorry to trouble you." The young man said. Ratna decided she had never set eyes on him.

The young man was very apologetic. "I didn't mean to disturb you, Ma'am. I was looking for Mr. Nair. I have some business with him."
"Oh, I see." Ratna was a little embarrassed...” But he is not back yet from work. Should be back soon. Would you like to wait for him?" Ratna said falteringly.
"If it's not too much trouble." The young man looked relieved. There was something about his eyes. They looked so mournful, Ratna thought. She hoped the man was not here for financial help from her husband. As it is Shankar was always running short of money for every little thing. She looked at the young man and wondered what to expect.

The man turned back to wave at the taxi that was parked at some distance from the house and Ratna followed his gaze.
"I'll just ask him to wait for me here. I'll be back in a minute, Ma'am.“
The man gave an embarrassed smile and stepped down to go through the small gate that stood decoratively in front of the shabby old house with a new name plate hanging on the outside. He went and spoke to the cab driver and moved back to the house where Ratna still stood wondering if she had done the right thing by asking him to come in and wait. She had plenty to do in the kitchen and there was no sign of Parvati and the kid.

Ratna asked the young man to make himself comfortable and at home. "Don't worry, Ma'am. I'll be all right." He said with an embarrassed laugh. “My name is Debdulal Ghosh. I am a reporter and I am covering a project taken up by the UNESCO that is doing some work on the spread of arsenic in West Bengal. That's why I wanted to have a talk with Mr. Nair…. I didn't mean to give you trouble."

"No, it's no trouble at all," Ratna smiled. She was a little relieved to learn that Debdulal was not here to get money from her husband. She heard the taxi move up to the front of the gate and stop.

"It's so difficult to get cabs around here. I thought it best to ask him to wait." He bared his slightly uneven teeth with a nervous smile.

"Yea, I think that's the best thing to do. Taxis are difficult to find here. Especially this side which is quite a way from the main road." Ratna sat down at the edge of the sofa facing the young man. She had left the front door wide open to be able to look out for Shankar to return. The man seemed harmless but she had never seen him and wondered if Shankar was going to be happy about letting him in.

"Would you like to have some tea?" Ratna was surprised to find herself offering him the age-old Indian brand of hospitality.
"No, thank you. If I can just get a glass of water......." the man left the sentence unfinished.
"Certainly," Ratna was happy to be able to disappear from his sight for a while. This would give her an opportunity to think. She wished Parvati would return with the child and Shankar would also come back home soon. She found herself getting annoyed with him for not having told her about his appointment with some stranger. They were yet to get their phone connection.
"Thank you, Ma'am," the young man got up to take the glass of water from Ratna. He drank it all up rather fast. While he tried to put it back on the centre table, he tripped and the glass jumped out of his grip crashing to the ground with splintering bits of glass flying all over the floor. The man fell over the same and there was a trickle of blood oozing from his forehead and palms that held him back from the fall. Ratna gave out a shriek and ran to help him get up. Debdulal was embarrassed and started stammering as he got up.
"Oh, no, that’s okay, Madam. I’m fine, I can manage,” He pushed himself up and sat carefully on the sofa. “I-I am really sorry, I broke your glass." He started picking up the broken pieces. He got the big pieces and heaped them on top of the small tray on the table. By then the blood from his forehead had traveled to the collar of his shirt and was threatening to pour out with a vengeance.
"Let me get some dettol for you," Ratna said looking a little worried.
"Oh, no. Please don't bother." Debdulal rubbed his wound with his shirtsleeves. Ratna was horrified. She insisted that he wash the wound with some dettol.
"That's alright, Ma'am. If you could show me the restroom, that'll be fine." Debdulal was apologetic. Ratna guided him through the passage to the restroom downstairs next to the kitchen.

She showed him the medicine cabinet on the wall where he could find the things he needed to treat his wound. Debdulal said a faint 'thank you' and locked the door behind him. Ratna stood there for a while with a puzzled look on her otherwise pleasant face. She went back to the drawing room to clear the mess on the floor. She was busy picking up the small pieces of broken glass when Parvati returned to say that the birthday party was not over yet at the neighbor’s and that Shuvam would return later.
"Who is going to bring him back?" Ratna sounded irritated.
"Aunty-ji said her son, Ajay, will drop him back when the party is over. There are so many children, Bhabi, and they are making such a racket." Parvati was filling in the details about the birthday party. "They have a paper animal hanging from the ceiling. All the kids are poking at it with hockey sticks and, believe me, the animal was raining toys and sweets wrapped in silver-paper." Parvati's eyes were shining with glee and she hoped Bhabi would also share some of her excitement. She took the mop from Ratna and got busy cleaning the floor while she jabbered away.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. They always have something like that at children's birthday parties." Parvati was a little surprised to hear the tone of Ratna's voice and her disinterest in the whole matter.

It was not before a good twenty minutes that Ratna realised that Debdulal was still not back from the restroom. She asked Parvati to go see if the bathroom was still occupied. The man looked so vague. What if he couldn't find his way back to the drawing room and was loitering around the house! She frowned at the thought of it. What if he’s loaded with a gun or some weapon! She shuddered.

A few minutes later Parvati came back to say that the restroom door was slightly ajar and that there was no noise coming out of it. Ratna was stunned. Where was Debdulal? She grabbed Parvati's arm and took her in.

"What are you saying?" she whispered. "I let the man in and he went into the toilet. Where can he be?" She checked the bathroom door and the kitchen. But neither of them saw any sign of Debdulal anywhere downstairs.
Suddenly it struck Ratna that the man didn't seem stable after all and, possibly out of curiosity had perhaps taken the stairs to go up.

"Parvati, let's go upstairs to see if that gentleman is there?"
"What gentleman are you talking about, Bhabi? I don't know what he looks like." Parvati was a little puzzled. She was sure, Bhabi had lost her mind! She realised that there was fear in Bhabi's voice. What man had she let in at this time of the day, she wondered.
Ratna ran to the kitchen to look for something. She could only find the kitchen knife. She grabbed that hiding it under her pallu.

The two women hung on to each other and crept up the steps that led to the bedrooms upstairs. They stood at the end of the last step and waited for any uncanny sounds they might hear. What was even more disconcerting, was the fact that there was none. And when the front door suddenly shut with a bang, both of them almost jumped out of their skin.

"Where is everybody? Ratna!" Shankar was back. Ratna was relieved to hear his voice from downstairs. She ran down the stairs with Parvati following suit.
"Oh, you're back. Thank God!" She stopped to take a deep breath
"What's the matter? Why was the front door left open?" Shankar was busy loosening his tie when he realised that there was something truly wrong. He studied Ratna's partly frightened and partly confused expression and added, "Why is that taxi standing there in front of our house? Who is here?"
"Sh-sh," Ratna whispered. She looked frightened. "There is a man inside."
"A man? What man?" Shankar was really confused.
"Some guy called Debdulal Ghosh. He wanted to see you. He went inside........"
"Inside?" Before Ratna could finish her sentence Shankar hissed. "Went inside? Why? Who is this Debdulal?"
"How should I know? He said he wanted to see you regarding some UNESCO project."
"And you let him in?" Shankar was really mad this time.
"Well, he said he knew you and would like to wait for you to come back."
"And?" Shankar questioned her looking angry.
"And then he broke a glass and cut himself. He wanted to go to the loo to wash the wound..." Ratna was almost in tears. She knew Shankar was not going to understand the rest of the story. "And now he is nowhere to be found." She mumbled.
"I don't believe it!" Shankar threw up his arms. "Where is he?" He charged through the passage to the bathroom, kitchen and ran up to the bedrooms upstairs. Debdulal was nowhere. Not even in the bathroom.

Shankar grew increasingly worried and suspicious. He took the stairs that led to the terrace, which he had virtually turned into a terrace garden. What if the man was waiting there with a gun or a weapon to strike after midnight? He was getting really worked up. He had meant to put a grill-gate to the door that led to the terrace but had been putting the project off. He pushed the terrace door carefully. The evening air was filled with the fragrance of the chamelis and juhis he had potted so lovingly once. The sky was already quite dark and the lights from neighboring houses didn't really help much. He stepped into the terrace and looked around. There was nobody. He realized that there was no scope for anybody to hide behind the water tank as it was placed flush against the wall. Where could the man disappear? He couldn't have taken the back door that was kept locked at all times. Still he decided to go down to check it out. The back door was shut and sealed. No soul could step out that way. Ratna looked terrified and when the doorbell rang she shrieked.

Parvati went and opened the door. It was Shuvam. Ajay, the young man who brought him back from the neighbor's, greeted her. But there was another person standing outside.
"Bhabi, please come this side," Parvati called out. Shuvam had already run inside to greet his dad. He had his hands full with back- presents from the birthday party. He wanted to show them to his dad. They all moved to the front door. The man standing next to the neighbor's son Ajay was the taxi-driver in his shabby grey uniform.

"How long am I going to wait, Memsaab?" the cabbie said. "I have been waiting for more than an hour. Please call the young man visiting you to pay me my fare and let me go. It’s going to cost him double the amount he agreed to pay me." The arrogant frown on his face proved that he was cheesed off with the kind of waiting he had been doing.

Shankar moved in behind Ratna and frowned. The driver looked at Shankar and wondered if he had said something out of turn in his presence and lowered his voice. "Saab, you can take his things from the cab. I just need my fare and leave Can I get it?" His tone was different this time.
"Wait a minute," Shankar moved forward. "You brought the young man here?"
"Yes. Why?" The driver was a little taken aback.
"He hasn't left yet? I mean, you haven't seen him leave this house?"
"Why Saab, I have been waiting here since he told me to park the taxi out there," the taxi-driver pointed to the spot where the cab was parked in front of the house. "I couldn't miss anybody even if it was a small fly."
"Where did you pick him up from?" Shankar was curious.
"Why, from Shyambazaar. He seemed to be in a hurry. There was a big accident there and he told me to get out of there as fast as possible. I took the longer but clearer route and got here as fast as I could.” He looked puzzled. “Why, Saab, is anything wrong?"
"Well, no, nothing as such. You said he has left some things in the car. Could you bring them here?" Shankar was confused. He was getting more and more baffled by the minute with the turn of events.
"Sure, why not?" The cabbie stepped out and moved towards his cab. Ajay, the young man from the neighbor's, was getting curious. “I’ll go with him." He told Shankar who nodded.

They brought back a cotton carry bag and a plastic folder containing some yellowing newspaper cuttings. The carry bag had a plastic water bottle, half-empty, a folded newspaper and a notebook. There was nothing suspicious or unusual about anything. Shankar looked at Ratna who seemed quite terrified and was clutching on to Shuvam. Shankar opened the notebook. There were pages full of reports from various sources. The thing that he found a little unusual was the dates marked on them. They were all marked between September 1989 - August 1990. It was obviously an old notebook.

Shankar picked up the yellowing newspaper from the bag and turned the pages while others pored over it to see if any suspicious looking object was embedded in it. It was a Bengali daily. He couldn't tell the date on it. He asked Ajay to read it out to him. It was dated August 22nd, 1991 exactly three years ago to the date. As he turned the pages, Ratna suddenly gave out a cry.
"That's him. That's him. Debdulal Ghosh," she covered her mouth, almost happy to be able to give a face to the name of the guy they were all worrying about. “Your friend,” she looked hopefully up at Shankar.
“My friend! Are you out of your mind?” He grew exasperated. “This is an obituary.”
Ajay took a close look at the picture of the young man in the photograph and looked shocked. "Yeah. That's Debuda." He stared at Shankar and Ratna for a while who stood there with eyes dilated with horror creeping in. He took the paper from Shankar's hands and read out the piece of news. "That's Debuda," he said again his voice faltering. "They used to live in this house some years ago when we were young. But..." he stopped to take a deep breath.
"But what?" Shankar sounded impatient. Ratna gasped.
"But he can’t be here today.” He looked frightened.
“Why not?” Shankar’s face clouded.
“Because….he died in a road accident three / four years back…. umm, from a head injury." Ajay handed back the newspaper to Shankar. "The picture is with the obituary from the publishing house he worked for," he said, looking at all the stunned faces around him.

**************************** THE END *****************************
Author's notes: The story was seen in a dream and recounted for your reading.
Written in JANUARY 2014

Word Count 3588


Submitted by: Dola Dutta Roy
Submitted on: Sun May 24 2015 15:02:28 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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Murder on Bed No. 315 -देवसुत

posted May 19, 2015, 3:53 PM by A Billion Stories

It was an emergency - at least, for the patient who was vomiting and passing watery stool continuously. He was delivered soon to the nearest hospital near midnight by his relative. But there was no doctor to attend - only 'sister' who put the patient on an all steel stretcher, and started a saline drip. The patient half conscious was only biding his time.

A full half hour later, the 'sister' called the 'doctor'. And of course at half hour past midnight, the 'doctor' was sleeping at home. Another half hour later, another call. The 'doctor' said she was coming. An hour later from that call when she came, she 'saw' the patient, took his pulse, put the stethoscope on his chest and went. No diagnosis was given.

The patient was not yet 'admitted'. He lay on the stretcher outside all rooms - in a corner.

At 6am in the morning, the 'doctor' came and after all the most powerful people that knew the patient came, that he was finally 'admitted' to the ICU at 8am.

It had taken a good 8hrs to cover the distance from the stretcher outside all rooms to the ICU a few feet away on the same floor. All the tests were ordered. By evening, the patients kidneys were showing signs of failure. At 9pm, the 'doctor' said that the 'hospital' did not have facilities to treat kidney failure patients. So the patient must be shifted to a hospital where they had the facilities.

At 10pm after all the bills were cleared by the relative, the patient wearing adult diapers was shifted on a metal stretcher in an ambulance with metal seats to the emergency room of another 'hospital'.

This time it was a 'big hospital'. At least, somebody said that it was a 'big hospital' obliquely meaning that the 'big hospital' had all the facilities.

At 10.50pm the now conscious but in-pain patient was admitted to the emergency of the 'big hospital'. Again, no doctor on arrival for a patient who arrived in an ambulance. The receptionist called the duty doctor who took another 30mins to reach the emergency room.

'Doctor does not talk to anybody', was the short gyan given. And "no one can enter emergency other than the patient". After a while they said: "one relative can be with the patient".

The patient of course could only display patience since there was no other option. He was on a drip again and also a catheter bag to take care of measuring his urine output. His kidneys were failing but had not failed yet. When the attending relative showed the attending 'sister' that the patient's diapers needed a change - pat came the answer - "why do not you do it yourself?"

By 6am the urine output had recovered a bit but still not completely. The patient was feeling better though still in danger. By 8am he was shifted from emergency to the ICU.

Another bed, another room, another drip, but no doctor again in the ICU. And in the ICU even the relatives are not allowed. We always used to beg the attending 'sister' for a 'glimpse' of the patient. The protocols were established of 'meeting time', 'leaving time' and the time when the 'doctor has come' would be announced. We always would sit in front of the ICU door - but we could not see the doctor come and go. Perhaps there was another door. This was a 'big hospital'.

Of course, this was a "big hospital' - it had multiple stories, so many rooms, so many sections, the floor was all costly granite, the gardens were manicured, the canteen was big, there were so many patients and their so many attending relatives, and there was no 'bigger' hospital in the vicinity.

This was also a 'good' hospital because it had all the facilities.

It could do blood tests, urine tests, ultrasound, X-ray, MRI, NMR and all the sub tests like cholesterol test, sugar test, Vitamin-D test, HIV test and what not. Every test for any part of the body could be done here. In the ICU because of hygiene concerns you would not be allowed to enter. Perhaps that was the reason why even the doctors were missing from the ICU!

"The patient's kidneys are recovering, but he is a heart patient, so we have to be careful" was being fed to my ears for two days. On the third, an ultrasound was done on the patient where the patient asked the sister jovially "is there any blood?". The sister smiled and gave no answer because she did not understand the question.

The morning of the fourth day the patient was said to be 'out of danger' by the mysterious and now famous Dr. Who, and shifted to a room where he ate idlis for breakfast and had a reasonable lunch. This was a good hospital.

At 6pm after drinking some water, the patient complained of 'breathlessness' to the sister. After a while, the sister told the 'doctor'. The doctor shifted the patient again to the ICU bed number 315. Another drip, another bed, another room and yet no doctor.

Sensing danger Dr. Who, anaesthetised the patient and put him on a ventilator - artificial breathing that is, since the patient was feeling breathless. Dr. Who was not a heart specialist though and the trouble was with the heart, perhaps! That was what everybody thought.

With no attending doctor, the patient would start removing the ventilator from his mouth since he would feel so miserable when he would regain even a little consciousness. This would go unnoticed and the 'sister' would be called by the one relative who was close by. The sister would then catch the patient, re-insert the ventilalor, the duty doctor would come, re-anaesthetize the patient and then leave the patient unattended again. This happened 3 times over a period of 2 hours and on the 4th when the patient could not take it anymore, his heart started sinking.

Dr. Who was not perhaps in the list of doctors who came because he was a 'big doctor' after all.

The emergency was now for the doctors who came in one by one and helped in reviving the patient by giving "shocks" to the heart and injecting heart rejuvenating drugs directly into the heart. The patient almost fought the doctors in trying to remove his ventilator so that he feels comfortable but alas, there were too many hands holding him down. One pair of hands tied his hands to the steel bed, and another pair tied his legs to the same. Weak and tied, the heart of the patient sunk without recourse.

The doctors left when the patient stopped struggling.

The relative was given time to cry before the body was wrapped in a white bedsheet.

The floor was clean, shining granite. All medical personnel were wearing white clothes. The building was big. Food was available in the canteen 24x7 and you could order idlis, dosas and even sweets. There was enough car parking space for all the visitors, even a nice green garden to greet.

The relative still waited for the doctor.

The receptionist gave the discharge certificate so that the Death Certificate could be got from the local municipal office. The metal seat ambulance waited outside to carry the body home. All facilities were provided. It was a 'big hospital'. It was also a 'good' hospital.

Bed No. 315 was still empty - perhaps!

It was not murder - of course!

-

Photo by:
Submitted by: देवसुत
Submitted on: Sun May 17 2015 21:20:42 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Biography-A real life incident happened with self
Language: English


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Breathless - Act 1 -Harekrishna

posted Jan 22, 2015, 11:17 AM by A Billion Stories

Me - I am feeling breathless.
Sister - Ok. Take rest.
Son - Sister, is he fine?
Sister - yes.
Son - (Goes out of the room) - Doctor, my father is feeling breathless.
Doctor - (runs and rushes into the room, shouting) - Sister, wheelchair.
(wheelchair is rushed by the sister)
Doctor - Help me lift him to the chair.
Son - Papa. you ok?
Student: Sir. Are you ok?
Me - yes (nodding my head)
Doctor - to the ICU, quick sister.
Son - Doctor, is there a problem?
Doctor - We need to check.
(I am heaved to the ICU bed, ECG and Blood oxygen meter are connected)
Me - (showing heaviness of breath to the doctor - no voice)
...More Doctors...
Doctor - Sir, we are sedating you. You will be on ventilator. Your blood oxygen is dropping.
Me - (nod my head - sometime later - become unconscious)
(how much time elapsed I do not know)
Me - (regain consciousness, eyes still closed, ventilator is connected which is very uncomfortable, I try to remove it)
Son - (in panic) Doctor, father is trying to remove his ventilator. (Doctor is nowhere near)
Student: (runs to the duty doctor in the ICU). Please attend fast. Quick.
Doctor - (comes running, sedates me again, puts the ventilator back, goes)
(how much time elapsed I do not know)
Me - (regain consciousness, eyes still closed, ventilator is connected which is very uncomfortable, I try to remove it) Son, I want to tell you something (No voice)
Son - (in panic) Doctor, father is trying to remove his ventilator. (Doctor is nowhere near)
Student: (runs to the duty doctor in the ICU). Please attend fast. Why is there nobody to attend on him fast?
Doctor - (comes running, sedates me again, puts the ventilator back, goes)
(how much time elapsed I do not know)
Me - (regain consciousness, eyes still closed, ventilator is connected which is very uncomfortable, try to remove it) Son, I want to tell you something (No voice)
Son - (in panic) Doctor, father is trying to remove his ventilator. (Doctor is nowhere near)
Student: (runs to the duty doctor in the ICU). Please attend fast. Why is there nobody to attend on him fast? This is not right.
Doctor - (comes slowly this time, sedates me again, puts the ventilator back, goes)
(how much time elapsed I do not know)
(Son is crying)
Me - Son, do not cry. I am here. (Son is still crying)
Me - oh... Am I ...? oh... But I wanted to tell something to my son.. How do I? oh.. I cannot!
(More crying)
Me - Son, I am here. Hey...
(More crying)
(I cry) (No voice)



-Harekrishna

Photo by:
Submitted by: Harekrishna
Submitted on: Tue Nov 12 2013 20:01:03 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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The Boy -Countrywide

posted Jul 23, 2014, 6:24 PM by A Billion Stories   [ updated Jul 23, 2014, 6:28 PM ]

There is no doubt that you have seen "the boy" at many places- that small boy playing cricket on the road with his buddies; that average teenage boy doing crazy stuff to impress his girl; that college boy who is physically present in his class but mentally he is in a world of thoughts where he is thinking about his pointless life, and many a times that boy looks into mirror and talks to himself....

I am going to write about an average life of such a boy who is none other than myself and I hope you will get it from the root of emotions in your heart.

When the boy was small, anything was possible for him. With a blanket behind him, the boy would have become superman, with a broom he would become a wizard. He believed in himself and he was just him, a haapy, innocent boy. There was no fear of failure.

But things became a little
different....

When the boy stepped into teenage or in his formative years of life, the boy gets interest in vivid sports and music or some artistic stuffs. He dreams of becoming an artist or a well known musician. But his parents enroll him in mathematics and science fields instead. The boy is told that marks scored in X and XII board exams are all that matters. His life becomes mechanical. And with the passing time he starts loosing his belief in himself. Suddenly he gets fond of sad music and four walls of a room is the only relaxing place for him where he starts thinking. He unknowingly tries to enroll himself in a sadistic enviornment created by his own thoughts about negativity of the world.

But apart all this....

There is another face of his teenage, the face of love and friendship. Though the boy sees a lot of girls as he grows up, there happens to be one special girl. He loves that girl so much that a small smile on her face brings butterflies in his stomach and twinkling stars in the hot afternoon sky.

But for some reason, it never lasts. The girl misunderstands the boy and their realtionship breaks, before it even actually begins to exist. But every time the boy thinks of her, his heart beats two times as fast.

Meanwhile, when all this is happening he was studying in XI standard. Beacause of some reasons he left his school and joined a college for doing a diploma course in engineering and later plans to pursue a degree in the same. He slowly gets disconnected with his friends, his place and the shades of memory of that special girl also gets lighter with passing time. The boy gets busy in his life.

Then he pursues engineering but his enthusiasm slowly decreases. Thanks to Indain education system, where scoring more marks is more important than actually understanding the concepts and doing that practically.

Overtime, he realises what is right and what is not. At one point the boy realises that he has grown up. And on a random jobless day, the boy just thinks what if he was still a kid or had pursued a career in sports or arts or ....

"Time flies And Life Moves On"

-Countrywide

Submitted by: Countrywide
Submitted on: Tue Jul 15 2014 10:03:49 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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Free Fall -देवसुत and Rahul Bose

posted Jun 27, 2014, 6:22 PM by A Billion Stories   [ updated Jun 27, 2014, 6:25 PM ]

There was not a day when my father would not mention about the universe, about the galaxies, about the stars and how they form and every law of the universe he knew, he would explain in the terms he thought i would understand given my age. His eyes would go up with his hands to show the stars and then would come down to show how sunlight covered them in the day. He would make the sound of a propeller to explain how a boat moves through water, then would just open his mouth and produce no sound at all to explain the explosion of a star in space where there is no air to carry the sound.


He would take me places and show me things - how leaves breath, how atoms make molecules, how the ocean becomes the clouds, how tigers play, how insects crick, how the sun blazes, how quarks spin, how light interferes, how mountains sing, how oceans growl, how birds fly, how planes crash, how gravity pulls, how the sun bends light, how time elapses, how are we born, how we die, how we incur sin, how we suffer, how we rejoice, how we sleep, how we eat, how we see, how we learn, how we remember, how we forget, how we sing, how we cry, how we feel pain, how we live, how current flows, how voltage drops, how resistance heats, how fractals have a different dimension, how games are played, how to win, how to lose, how to love, how to fight, how to pray, how to make, how to destroy, how to sustain, how to abstain, how the music vibrates, how the wind resonates, how the light waves, how everything is just a vibration. Learning from him was exciting. He was a great teacher.

I was not fascinated by everything he told. Some was exciting, some was just another fact, some was not very clear and so I would ask questions and he would answer. If it was still not clear, he would think and tell it again. Some of these answers spanned over days or months till I got it - or so he thought, based on my reaction. One of these concepts was of zero-gravity. I was just 4 when he told about it the first time. I was excited, but could not relate to it. He knew that I did not get it. But then, he was a great teacher - he would wait till he observed that I was ready for the next level of understanding. Then one day, he demonstrated by jumping off the sofa, and showing me how a water droplet falls from a tap. I still did not get it. There were other things he told me in the meanwhile, but when it would come to zero-gravity I would not understand it. I knew he thought of sky-diving with me to explain it - because he told about sky-diving as well, but that was too costly and I was too young. So we saw videos of sky diving and astronauts floating in the space station over the next year. I did understand, but this time, father was not satisfied. Time rolled. My schooling progressed not much at school but at home with my father. In the school it was just A B C D.

Then we planned the trip to Nainital, Himachal Pradesh, India. On the train trip, he showed the landscapes and how it changed every 100km and why it is that way. He showed the birds on the electric wire that ran with the train, he showed the fields where different crops were grown every 3 months. Then came the mountains and the sheer depths, the Himalayas and how they have formed and that India was called "Jambudweep" by the ancients when the ocean was in the place of where Himalayas stand today. The train journey ended and we went in a car to the hotel where we would stay. The lake was stunningly beautiful in the middle of the mountains, the play of sunlight on the shimmering waters was truly inspiring. That night was silent and the cold had just set in. Our blankets warmed us.

The next day we took a walk around the lake and then walked up to the sky-car to go to the other side of the mountain quickly. I was getting excited. The sun shone bright. I heard my father's comment to the operator about the non-maintenance of the sky-car ropes. "No grease" he had said "would cause more friction, reducing the life of the ropes, apart from the higher electricity bills." I did not pay much attention as I was waiting excitedly for the sky-car to come. Rs. 10/- was the ticket. It was free for me since I was not of age yet. Father bought it for himself.

The sky-car came and its passengers descended. We got in. Father was silent. He was allowing me to experience it. I knew that. I was sitting on his lap. He was holding my left hand. The sky-car moved and proceeded up the rope-way to the next mountain, the passengers chatting with each other, above the din of the un-greased rope-way. We were reaching the middle of our short journey.

One cannot always predict these things, but that day, right in the middle, one of the ropes gave way. There was a sudden lurch, the safety brakes on the other ropes latched and the sky-car stopped in place. People screamed and then stopped when the sky-car became stable. Somebody made a call on his phone. I could feel the silence that set in even though my heart was pounding. When I looked at father he smiled at me, still holding my left hand. What was there to fear when father was here?

Minutes passed and there was talk of rescue. Helicopters were coming to pick us up. Then there was another snap. Another rope had broken. I felt father's grip on my hand tighten, and he passed his right arm around my waist. The sky-car was swinging now. The passengers were screaming again. Father was cool, but he had moved me with him and was near the door of the sky-car, tightly gripping the bar on the door, shifting his weight in trying to reduce the swinging of the sky-car, just like I did on the school swing. His right hand was on the latch that opened the door, but he was not opening it yet. The helicopters were nowhere to be seen. Minutes passed again. The swinging was less, but the wind had picked up. Father, whispered in my ears that we were 150ft above ground, about 130ft above treetops. I was not listening.

The 3rd snap was not heard by any. The sky-car went into a free fall, father had opened the door and we were out of the sky-car in a flash. He had seen it coming. As we fell, he held me by the waist above him and whispered 3 words in my ear - "Zero-gravity love you". I heard the sky-car crash on another tree. I did not feel the impact much, but father did not make it. I was terrified. I cried and held to my dear father. Rescuers found me alive. The next day, the headline of the local newspaper read: "17 dead. 6 year old survives miraculously". Time flew till I was 18. I do not remember the passage of years in-between.

Life had been never the same again. I had to find my own answers. The memories of the crash had stopped haunting me, but sometimes, I felt lost, there were questions popping in my head. Why me? How?

And slowly the answers came. Sometimes, in sleep, or just after I woke up, or under the shower, or while driving the bike, or when attending the physics class. Slowly, very slowly, I started getting the answers. Was it me? Was it father? - I used to think sometimes.

That day, it was not a miracle. It was father. In the free fall, he had positioned himself under me so that I could be saved from the impact. It was he who was the miracle. He used zero-gravity and our center of gravity to rotate and position me in a way that insulates me from the impact, just like the astronauts in the space station. It was he who took the impact. It was no miracle. And he had not whispered but shouted to make me hear. He had said: "Experience zero-gravity son. I love you." That was all he could say in the short time it took to fall 150ft. I now understood zero-gravity, perhaps a little too much. The mango tree which father had planted in the garden had started bearing fruits.

One day, the postman delivered a parcel to me. I could not figure out who could have sent the parcel by registered post. It was addressed to me from Mohammed Iqbal and Associates (Advocates). I opened the parcel amused. My world fell apart.

These were legal papers that showed that my father was not my biological father. He was a Hindu. I was a Muslim. I was his adopted son. I hated my father for the first time in my life. Why did he not tell me the truth?

Days passed. Slowly, I went through all the papers. One by one. And slowly I realized, he was telling me. He had been telling me. He told me how to pray which was not the Hindu way. He himself went to temples with me. And we had visited Masjids where he had taught me to pray. He had told me how I was born. And he had arranged for lawyers to send me these papers when I would be 18, even if he may not physically exist. It was my right to know and he told it.

I felt his presence near me. He had been there always with me. And then in his characteristic style, his words popped in my head: "Son, remember this - there is religion enough to hate, but there is not religion enough to love".

After that, I knew what I had to do throughout my life. My father was not separate from me anymore. My father was me. The guidance came from within.

I did my post-doctoral fellowship in Bio-sciences and consult in hospitals about how best to help patients of cancer recover fast. Today I have a wife and two beautiful children. I know how to teach them.
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-देवसुत with Rahul Bose.
-Completed: 26-6-2014, 9.36am.
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-देवसुत and Rahul Bose

Photo by: -
Submitted by: देवसुत and Rahul Bose
Submitted on: Thu Jun 26 2014 10:40:48 GMT+0530 (IST)
Category: Original
Language: English


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