My Life... My fate

One year has passed now. Mumbai got back to normalcy again.... Hotal Taj repaired, renovated & back to life again. But wounds in some hearts are still open & burning with agony... Hearts of those who had lost one or more of their family members that night. Hearts of those wives... those mothers.... those sisters, who had lost their brave husbands, sons or brothers, fighting against those evils. How could they forget that night of terror & tremor?
This post is just a tribute to all known and unknown persons who lost their lives that night.
Lets pray... that black night of massacre don't come again... Amen.
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Vroommm ! The sound of a gun-shot broke the silence of midnight It was fired from one of the commandoes That bullet hit the wall of nearby building, got reflected and fell on the ground, just by my side where I am laying counting my last breaths "He" is also a "bullet" just like me. The only difference... he is fired by a true, patriot and brave soldier and me, came from an evil, cruel militant.

I smiled at him, but he turned his face throwing a glance of hatred and anger at me. It did not surprise me, as it always happens with me. But how he recognized me? How did he know that I belong to those militants? Oh, yes... Its because I am not made in this country. I came from somewhere, thousands of miles away from this country, just to kill some innocent people. I was lucky that it was an aimless firing by them and I just fell on the ground without hurting anybody.

I have hated myself throughout my life. Not because I am a bullet, but for being in the wrong hands. From the very first day of my inception, I was destined to kill some innocent people. I never liked it, but does the liking or disliking of a bullet ever matters to any human being? We are made to kill... made to hit... but we are not supposed to chose our target. We are just servants or may be slaves in the hands of our masters. Our masters, who decide where to aim, what to target, which one to kill? Where ever our masters target us, we are supposed to hit it and do the maximum damage. This is our destiny... our fate... A servant, a slave has no right to protest... no right to tell his master that he is doing wrong. They are only made to obey the orders... orders of their masters, no matter right or wrong.

The day I came to this country, I have started loving these people. They are so true, so innocent, but a bullet is not supposed to love. At least, I came here to spread terror and hate... not love. I was so helpless... I couldn't even tell them to be aware of me. I am so dangerous...

The sound of gun shots and grenades intensified. I looked at him, by my side; He was looking at his masters. His face full of pride for his masters, who are fighting bravely against my masters and my masters... the cruel ones... the evil ones... are now hiding inside a building, like cowards A wave of rage, anger and hatred passed throughout my body.

I heard, someone saying, "It's just a matter of few hours now, and we will defeat those cowards "

I felt a bit relieved... relieved ! that there will be an end to this terror now, for the time being at least. For the last time I looked at his face and closed my eyes waiting for the dawn or may be for death whichever comes first ..!

Those Good Old days

मै और मेरी तन्हाई अक्सर ये बातें करते हैं......

…yes. Me and my solitude always talk about this. This is about the time when I was very young. Though I am still young, but it is about 25 to 30 years ago, when I was stepping towards getting young. That was the age of no television, but only radio. I recall the time when in the morning, I use to open my eyes in the bed with the sweet melodious signature tune of All India Radio. I lay on the bed listening to the recital of Vande-Mataram and devotional songs. I used to have my break-fast with the old melodies of Hindi films from Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation and finishing it with the song of late K.L. Sehgal at 8 AM. We always knew, when it was the first day of month, as Sri Lanka radio used to broadcast the song "Aaj Pehli Tareekh hai...." on that day, without fail.

In the evening we have to study from 7PM to 9PM and my ears used to get fixed to the radio right from 8.45, the news time. I eagerly wait for the beeps at 9, so that I could pack-up and go for dinner. After dinner it was the time for Akashvani Kolkata programmes. The famous one at that time was “Chhaya-Chhobir Gaan” (Film songs) on gramophone records. …and my father used to call it a day, when Mr. Shurojit Sen stop reading the news at 11.10 PM. That was the bed-time for us.

This was the time when we barely need to look at the clock, as if our whole day schedule was bound with the radio programmes. Even then we had plenty of time for all social activities. We used to study, we used to play, go to films, meet our relatives & neighbours and celebrate every festival with full enthusiasm. We were never late for any appointment and most important, we never complained about the shortage of time in our lives.

Time changed…. Life became busy; even 24 hours seem to be less for a days work. The good old radio disappeared from our lives and hundreds of satellite channels took over. Now the day starts with “Beedi Jalai Le….” And one starts searching for his cigarette packet and lighter from the bed. The day passes with several gossips and implausible stories created by the news channels.

The evening comes with some Saas, Bahoos… multi marriages… and memory loss serials. At dinner time our eyes get fixed on TV screen watching some Very Unreal “Reality Shows” and so-called laughter shows (in which one has to find a reason to smile {not laugh} at least). Our bed time is decided by these serials and shows. Akashvani Kolkata has been taken over by some Bangla channels, which are doing nothing but mimicking other Hindi channels.

Now we don’t have time to go to cinemas, so we bring DVDs at home. We have forgotten our social obligations. We could hardly spare some time to meet our relatives, and that too once in a year or two. We never try to find out, who is residing at our neighbourhood. We celebrate the festivals like liability, just because, they are meant to be celebrated. After all we don’t have time for all these age old traditions.

Really… the time has changed or, as we think… time has shriveled.

Age No Bar

Yesterday, while on my way to office, I was stopped by an old gentleman standing by the side of the road. He was a decently dressed gentleman in his late seventies. He was sweating and breathing heavily, due to scorching heat and the sun. From his condition it was clear that he was hardly able to walk anymore. He wanted a lift, for which I happily agreed.

On our way, he asked me to drop him in front of a nearby working women's hostel. Just out of curiosity, I asked him the reason for visiting there. He replied, "I am Dr. Shukla, a retired Civil Surgeon from the district hospital. I go there every week for the routine check-up of the hostellers." I asked him "Was it necessary for an old man like you, to go there today in such a summer heat. You are still sweating heavily."

The old gentleman smiled and replied," Everyday I have to visit some of these hostels and orphanages. If I had not gone there today, there turn would have come next week. After all, they keep waiting for me." There was a long pause, then he broke the silence "...... and I am not doing it for money. I do it for charity and for my satisfaction only."

I was stunned.... I was shocked... I was speechless... Felt ashamed for my earlier views about him, felt myself too small in front of this human being. I could not utter a single word for the rest of the way.

We reached his destination. He got off and headed towards the gate of the hostel, thanking me and blessing me. I could not say a word... only silently saluted the generosity and devotion of this old man.