HIM...

We grew up together. He was a constant companion. Making me laugh, cry, love, hate…creating every kind of emotion in me.
Always a funny guy for those who knew him closely… a serious guy for acquaintances …an ideal for youngsters.

Incidents, giving instances of his funny character, form an unending list. I remember, he had beaten me up just because I’d won the chess match against him for the first time. That was my last chess match ever. Another interesting event is when our housemaid was unwell. He had volunteered to bring her the medicine. He came back holding a tablet and a glass of water. She took it and felt instant relief, only to find out later that the tablet was nothing but solidified phlegm. He has filled my childhood memories with disgusting but definitely funny events.

But with due course, I also learnt that, within this guy is a boy hidden who cares for others very much. One incident to instantiate this would be when he was beaten up protecting his friend from some drunken men who were relentlessly beating up his friend for no reason. Doing it at a very tender age showed his courage as well as dedication for his friends. I vividly remember that day when he had returned home with a pair of swollen and blackened eyes unable to open them properly.

He has been a source of inspiration from the time I started using my senses.
If summarized about his character, like others he has also passed through [in fact, may be passing through] different phases of life but has always managed to emerge above the crowd making his identity clearer.

The loner, the funny guy, the handsome, the caring one, the encouraging one, helpful… …the list goes on, but surprisingly, I am yet to find a single word to fit it in this list, which describes him negatively.

Life is taking us in different directions. Although, the root is same, we are past that phase when we can turn back and spend a few good days together. Competing and struggling with this ruthless world, we’ve grown so much apart. But I hold a special place for him in my heart, which is filled with admiration, respect, love and trust which no-one can ever take...except HIM.

Special thanks to :

• Zubin Nayak, for being my source of inspiration.
• Rajat Toshniwal [awesome surname], for encouraging me to write a blog.
• Bhagyashree Wattal, who, i am sure, will enjoy each word thoroughly.
• Mrs. Purnima Pradhan [mom] and Mr. K.C.Nayak [dad], for bringing him into existence.
• All of them who enjoyed this blog.

Conflicts Within

One half a loner, the other, a gregarious one…one part shy, the other showy…a messy one as well as an organized one…too ambitious, too lazy…careless but careful…possessive and magnanimous…impulse driven but planned actions…colorful but white [no color]…forgiving in a way of taking revenge…noisy silence…moody but no mood…prejudiced because unbiased...atheist but God fearing…supportive but back-biter…accolades as opprobrium…stagnant but ever flowing…green forest but concrete jungle…chained for freedom…limited within the limitless…suffocating because too open…cognoscente but ignorant…man of principles because no principles to follow…STANDING ON EARTH BUT DREAMING OF SKY.

Meri kahani..Meri zubani..

[funny title..isn't it!!..hehehe]

Many miles away, after crossing many political borders, there comes a piece of land, which I call mine. I am not talking about a piece of land that I own, but about a land that owns me: My Country.

With my eyes filled with limitless dreams, I’d set out from there, promising that I would come back. Come back to make it a better place, to help my people, to prove my citizenship..

But after arriving here, it seemed a distant dream to return back to my parents, my people, and my country.

I was forced to believe that I was in a dreamland where everything was just so perfect, so possible. But, little did I think about my parents for whom I was the only supporting stick of their old age.

Time has flown by; it is now forty years since I stepped on this land for the first time. Never had I a moment to notice the pace of my life. I found a good job, a beautiful wife, produced cute children and had everything a man could think of..except my parents, who were yearning to see me. But that never mattered so much as to produce a desire in me to visit them. And i ticked on with time; never to be left behind by the world; never to turn back and see what i have left behind.

But now, as I near my deathbed, I long to see my country and my people [my parents died long ago]. Old age changes the way u see the world. The ardor to prove myself had died out with age. I have this continuously growing feeling that I should visit my country and I should be buried there, within its heart so that my heart is at peace. Now, I probably do understand what my parents might have felt when they could not see me before they died. I can feel the gravity of all this now because if I return to my country my children wouldn’t accompany me and then I would be left alone to die; like my parents were left alone. 'Abandoned': this is what they must have felt. "Orphaned" by their own child.

A continuous process, Life, has been a good friend, cohort, teacher, and helper to me through-out. I am learning things now, which I should have learnt many years ago. People who devoted their life to make mine a better one never got a chance to see the results of their effort. And I guess I would also be excluded from seeing my children's life processes. The cycle continues..

It took me 65 years to fully understand the sentence my mother had taught me when i was a kid,"What goes around comes around."

The unavoidable feeling...

..finally, winter has arrived in delhi..not in a full-fledged form but as an infant..
as u go out in the evening..u can actually smell romance/mischief in the air..depends on ur mood..
the milieu is bound to make u feel a bit lonely without your friends or ur partner...
missing everybody i know AND[.] i am far away from..