BIASED VICTORIES
It was beyond doubt, the happiest moment in life. What else could I ask for? My first attempt at writing a short story had become a great success. The story titled, "The Bread Winner" had won a second prize in a competition.
My story got selected as the second among the five stories shortlisted for the prize. I was on cloud nine the day the phone call came. Coincidentally, I had also got my first pay-cheque after I joined my first job very recently. I planned for a party with my family.
After meeting the monthly expenses, I had taken my father, mother and sister out for lunch. On the way back, everyone was happy, and I felt as though I have won the whole world. Yet, there was one more excitement lurching in my heart. On the way back home by the suburban Metro, I asked my family to go home before me telling that I had to meet a friend. Once they left, I boarded the next train and was on my way to meet my girl. Yes, Chitra.
There was my sweetheart, Chitra, a few kms away, waiting to celebrate my victory. This is one secret I had hidden away from my family, waiting only for the right moment to reveal our love. Having gained a good name, I can boldly bring this topic into our family tonight. I felt triumphant.
For those who haven't read the prize-winning story, it is a story of a man who, on his usual morning walk comes across a small girl who executes life-risking stunts by walking on a rope, twisting her body head to toe through a steel ring. The story described the noble character of the girl who had to take care of the daily food of her mother. The story had questions about Economic Independence of people and their willingness to offer help to the poor and the needy.
I was lost in the those moments which inspired me to write the scene I saw on a hot sunday afternoon. The girl had only done the rope walking. I had just added the body twist through the steel ring, just to appeal to the readers. It was then that I saw them boarding my compartment of the train. I couldn't just believe my eyes. A woman and a small girl, supposedly mother and daughter came in, the mother sat down on the floor, took out an aluminium plate and started beating on it using a steel spoon. The girl clad in a not-so-clean outfit, started dancing to the tune.
I was dumbstruck by what followed the dance. Everything resembled the scene of my story. This is where I felt ashamed of my imagination. The girl was executing the body-twist trick. The steel ring was forced on her body, head to toe causing numerous bruises on its way. I felt bad for what I had wrote. The girl then asked for alms, by stretching the aluminium bowl, but this girl was a lot younger than the TARA in my story. She went and asked almost everyone in the compartment. I gave her all I could, leaving me with money just enough to return home. The girl didn't even seem to notice the big 100-rupee note I gave her. Her eyes were fixed on something else. It was a small DUMROO, a drum which makes sound by a beaded string which hits on its membranes. A kid, firmly seated on its mother's lap was making noise with it. The girl even tried snatching it in vain, only to get a serious glare from the mother of the kid.
The kid's tendency to prefer looking at the DUMROO, instead of the money brought out tears from my eyes. I was disheartened at this action. The thought of a child, not yet out of toys, seeking alms made my heart flinch with pain. Many questions found their way into my brain.
Who would grow out of such a kid? It is seldom that we get a "so-called successful" person out of such a kid. The kid might never get to become a respected individual in the soceity. The world outside would just vapourise the child's innocence, and in years, the child might even become an anti-social element. How many would have become such elements by now? How many of them are of my age? All my pride from my success faded away like morning dew in front of the Sun. I felt that my victory was a biased one, something which was obtained after disqualifying many other friends on grounds of money.
As I got down from the train, I saw the girl pointing me to her mother and smiling. As I waited for Chitra, but my heart wasn't all filled with love, it had plans for the future. Making someone else experience the same anxiety of the evening and was my motive. I was drafting plans which could only be effectively executed with help from my partner, because, she was the one who would stand by me all my life. They were plans which can move the smallest possible stone favouring Mandatory Education to kids.
It was beyond doubt, the happiest moment in life. What else could I ask for? My first attempt at writing a short story had become a great success. The story titled, "The Bread Winner" had won a second prize in a competition.
My story got selected as the second among the five stories shortlisted for the prize. I was on cloud nine the day the phone call came. Coincidentally, I had also got my first pay-cheque after I joined my first job very recently. I planned for a party with my family.
After meeting the monthly expenses, I had taken my father, mother and sister out for lunch. On the way back, everyone was happy, and I felt as though I have won the whole world. Yet, there was one more excitement lurching in my heart. On the way back home by the suburban Metro, I asked my family to go home before me telling that I had to meet a friend. Once they left, I boarded the next train and was on my way to meet my girl. Yes, Chitra.
There was my sweetheart, Chitra, a few kms away, waiting to celebrate my victory. This is one secret I had hidden away from my family, waiting only for the right moment to reveal our love. Having gained a good name, I can boldly bring this topic into our family tonight. I felt triumphant.
For those who haven't read the prize-winning story, it is a story of a man who, on his usual morning walk comes across a small girl who executes life-risking stunts by walking on a rope, twisting her body head to toe through a steel ring. The story described the noble character of the girl who had to take care of the daily food of her mother. The story had questions about Economic Independence of people and their willingness to offer help to the poor and the needy.
I was lost in the those moments which inspired me to write the scene I saw on a hot sunday afternoon. The girl had only done the rope walking. I had just added the body twist through the steel ring, just to appeal to the readers. It was then that I saw them boarding my compartment of the train. I couldn't just believe my eyes. A woman and a small girl, supposedly mother and daughter came in, the mother sat down on the floor, took out an aluminium plate and started beating on it using a steel spoon. The girl clad in a not-so-clean outfit, started dancing to the tune.
I was dumbstruck by what followed the dance. Everything resembled the scene of my story. This is where I felt ashamed of my imagination. The girl was executing the body-twist trick. The steel ring was forced on her body, head to toe causing numerous bruises on its way. I felt bad for what I had wrote. The girl then asked for alms, by stretching the aluminium bowl, but this girl was a lot younger than the TARA in my story. She went and asked almost everyone in the compartment. I gave her all I could, leaving me with money just enough to return home. The girl didn't even seem to notice the big 100-rupee note I gave her. Her eyes were fixed on something else. It was a small DUMROO, a drum which makes sound by a beaded string which hits on its membranes. A kid, firmly seated on its mother's lap was making noise with it. The girl even tried snatching it in vain, only to get a serious glare from the mother of the kid.
The kid's tendency to prefer looking at the DUMROO, instead of the money brought out tears from my eyes. I was disheartened at this action. The thought of a child, not yet out of toys, seeking alms made my heart flinch with pain. Many questions found their way into my brain.
Who would grow out of such a kid? It is seldom that we get a "so-called successful" person out of such a kid. The kid might never get to become a respected individual in the soceity. The world outside would just vapourise the child's innocence, and in years, the child might even become an anti-social element. How many would have become such elements by now? How many of them are of my age? All my pride from my success faded away like morning dew in front of the Sun. I felt that my victory was a biased one, something which was obtained after disqualifying many other friends on grounds of money.
As I got down from the train, I saw the girl pointing me to her mother and smiling. As I waited for Chitra, but my heart wasn't all filled with love, it had plans for the future. Making someone else experience the same anxiety of the evening and was my motive. I was drafting plans which could only be effectively executed with help from my partner, because, she was the one who would stand by me all my life. They were plans which can move the smallest possible stone favouring Mandatory Education to kids.
Will you also stand by me?
2 comments:
Impressive
Well said. Rights don't mean anything to a person unless he has the capability to make use of those rights. We say that every child has a right for education. But it doesn't mean anything to this little girl because there is no way for her to make use of her rights.
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