If you can’t live, whats the use of living?
Time changes,people change,you change. The same happened to me. I remember myself as the free living beautiful creature with no bounds, no addictions, no love and no hate. I loved myself, adored myself in little ways I did not know. Lethargy, laziness were not the things that were prevalent in my dictionary. I praised myself on little things, I cried on little things. Everything was so simple, so just, so open, so transparent. Life was so easy, so good, so bountiful. Nature was so beautiful, human beings were so joyful. I lived in Dehradun then, living the happiest life I have experienced till now. I do not remember the houses, the trees, the roads, the rivers. But I remember I was innocently happy and innocently sad. I remember the farewell party which was organised and all the Bengali friends invited. I remember the bus which was rented to take us to the station and I remember us standing at the door of the rail car, while the train accelerated, while streams of tears rode down my eyes and we bade our last ,but not the least farewell, with my parents’ and mine closest friends.
I do not remember the journey or our stay at my aunt’s house in Tollygunge, Kolkata. I remember that some dangerous bacteria or virus or whatever else had attacked me and that I had to spend long nights in the children’s ward of a hospital with something itching all over my body. We did not go back to my aunt’s, I was taken to a small quarter in the thirteenth floor of the longest building I have even seen by now. We went up the floors using a lift which used to look like a mini-train to my exploring eyes. Once in a while when I returned from school I found that there was no electricity, I only climbed all the way up using stairs because the Kurkure packet in my brother’s hand seduced me. I remember the days when I used to cover all the easily breakable things with pillows and make a boundary out of it so that I and my brother could play mini cricket on bed. I remember rearranging those pillows into mountains and hiding some mini-objects into it so my brother could find it(he did the same for me).
Then I remember another move, to the opposite side of Kolkata, to a better house, poorer neighbours, better connections, poorer school and better friends. Yes, in that new school painted red, with plasters peeling out of walls, with cobwebs hanging on the classroom walls, with a single toilet that smelled like hell, with broken marbles and sand filled ground I found my best friend, that I found myself to undergo a change.
The girl who I described as my best-friend appeared to me at that time to be a thin girl with large dark eyes and chocolate brown hair which used to form a fine braid. She is and was quite a beauty if you could imagine her without the limp. I met her on the second day of my new class. She sat with me. She might have bored anyone else with her nonsensical talk but she did not bore me for I still had not gained the habit of talking and hearing much. Whatever were her failings in studies, she made it up with her good behavior, polite manners, helpfulness and caress.
I liked her to be on my side through petty happiness and trouble. But I was attracted to other students, students I considered of a higher value than me, those who I despised and yet at some part in my heart admired. they did not like me,they never talked for I never brought up a conversation meaningful enough. So the more I despised myself and them, and so the more I admired them.
Then suddenly I discovered that I was a good enough to compete the students to whom I gave such a high stature, then I became sure. At some point I become proud and then over-proud. I had come to believe that it would be easy to change-to forget the old and accept the new. I desired to be the friends of those who who had popularity,intelligence, smartness and somewhere hidden in them- a desire to live and to ignore the life. But somehow my plans backfired. Somewhere I went against the plan of God.
Yes it was easy to forget much but not all. Yes it was easy to adopt some but not all. Somehow I got hung between two branches. I no longer belonged to the clan I had tried to leave for good, it being stated by material mouths matter-of-factly (which carried some amount of regret I assume). I entered partly into the group i desired but not as full and whole. They now talked to me but not let me be with them. I sat with old friends but did not share with them. I became oceans between two lands, wanted only for having fun. I became salty like sea, remembered but yet not truly essential. I lost something to get nothing. Somehow those days made me lose something inner,made me lazy and tired. Somehow I lost my beauty, my grace, my bounty over the thing you consider as a trifle incident. Somehow I lost my charm. Somehow I lost myself. I got for the hate of me something I hate more. Chains broke to let me starve. I recovered from that dreaded state of human life, but it was not me who recovered. I am not me, no longer.
Who says Santa Claus is not real? Probably Santa is not a fat old man with a flowing white beard. But there are real Santa, not one but many. Here is a story inspired by a real person.
Aditiya Kaur was a resident of Dum Dum, Kolkata. She was an IIT, Kharagpur graduate. A very able woman as she was, she dedicated her life teaching some rarely talented students. Almost 95% of these students joined some of the finest educational facilities available in the world.
Two of them belonged to some of the most neglected slums in Kolkata where educating a child looked like walking on the moon. One came from a far distant village where nobody knew what electricity is. Another child belong to a family in a remote corner of Himalayas where survival of people is a miracle.
Apart from teaching her hobby was travelling. Wherever she traveled, she picked up some bright students just like any person would collect a curio. To these kids, she was and still is like a Fairy-Godmother. She gave them the gifts they had never dreamed of. She used the money from her private firm for their education. This Santa won’t be giving gifts any longer. But let the world see such Santa again.Hope that I shall be of more or less help to someone.
Santa Claus not in name but in deed.
We can know of a person entering this world when we hear a single person crying above a roar of human laughter. Human cries and sighs, human smiles and laughs, scolds and loves. You know human for happiness he feels. Human strives for happiness- which is his ultimate goal. In a human’s lifetime many times he falls down. Many times he is punished for his own mistakes and that of others. How does he rise then? Sometimes defeat makes a person to work harder. His will, his anger all want him to win. Jealousy in a person’s mind aggrevates her to compete. Love in a person’s soul welcomes peace, sometimes war. Sentiments play a huge role in our life. It decides upon enimity and friendship. A person feels but doesn’t understand the diverse range of emotions. A family is set up with emotions. Feelings tie men into a chain. It affects a person’s we work. It may decide life and death. Upset people are not the people who can run the world. Human is a passionate being. Human is such a vast bundle of emotions, it if difficult to understand one.