With three elephantine bags, blessings
from parents and an enthusiastic heart, I left for Bengaluru. Ingenuously, the
reason behind the name change of cities is not very clear to me. But I was
excited. High-rise buildings, innovative ideas and dynamic people; the
Electronic Capital of India has all that fascinates youths from all over the
world. I was also wrapped up.
A caring
mother is the sweetest gift of God. The whole world lies in mother’s feet, but
sometimes she can get you late. Curd and tears held me up. I reached station in
hustle and bustle. The guard had blown the whistle. I jumped into the
compartment with all my luggage. For once, I appreciated my decision to keep
father at home. I would definitely had received his ‘see-off’ gift on my cheeks
for this brave act of mine. Though I noticed an old woman with her eyes stuck
on me. She threw a suspicious look. Perhaps she took me to be a terrorist who
came to bomb the train. She even gazed at my elephantine bags.
A young
bachelor of twenty three is never in a hurry to grab a seat; either in a classroom
or in train. He would give all his effort to look for some lovely faces around.
Eagles may feel ashamed. Also he would prefer standing rather than sitting next
to a stinky, bulky old woman with a suspicious look.
It was over
an hour since I kept standing. Pain in legs can compel that young bachelor to
ask for an adjustment in the sitting arrangement. I asked the old woman with
stern looks to provide me a little space. On repetitive requests, she finally
agreed. I was given a seat next to the window. Window seats promise a
mesmerizing view of the beautiful countryside; with cattle grazing, herd of
sheep, and inspiring mountains. Farmers can be also seen sowing seeds. In my
heart, I thanked the old woman. Though she was busy gazing at my bags.
The
beautiful countryside outside the window made me recall my childhood days. I
would cry out loud to attain one near it. I remember, I used to sleep in this
soothing environment, thinking of the high mountains.
Few things
from childhood persist. I slept again. In my dreams, I saw high mountains,
green fields. Then I saw fascinating skyscrapers of Bengaluru. For once, I saw
my sweet mother too, shedding tears with a bowl of curd in her hands.
I would
have dreamt some more, had a cruel boy not waken me up. I found him sitting
close to me. Surprisingly he had attained the window seat. Aged below ten, with
untidy hair, he was sitting between me and the window.
I felt
strange to have him, sandwiched, with clothes muddy and murky. ‘’ Perhaps he
has again disobeyed his mother and went out to play in fields while she slept”
I thought for a while, looking at his untidy appearance. I could see, he was
least bothered about this murky appearance. He was busy tasting rambutans, that he might had plucked
from some tree while playing. He looked very impatient, like any other child of this
cohort.
The pockets
in his murky shirt seemed to contain something in good amount. When I bent to
see, I found rambutans and marbles compacted in it. He hid those with his hands
when he caught he doing this. I can be very sure that he didn’t like this
inspection of mine. Annoyed, he faced towards the window and continued to taste
those handful of rainy season fruit. He was not in a mood to share.
After a
while, he asks ‘’ Do you know where do these mountains lead?”
“To village,
to green fields, to meadows on the other side” I replied.
‘’No’’ he
said, then he continued, ‘’these mountains lead to sweet rambutan trees that the villagers have planted. It would be
very kind of you to search there instead
of inspecting my pockets.”
I felt
amused. I really didn’t know whether to laugh or scold. I chose to keep quiet.
After a
while, I interrupted him with a question, ‘’Don’t you think your mother would
beat you badly when she finds these murky clothes ?”
“I would bribe
her” he replied; pointing towards the pocketful of rambutan in his blue murky
pant.
I was
intrigued by this reply. Again I asked him “ And what if you don’t succeed?”
“I will
rush to her, clinch her border and start crying. A few drops from my eyes and
she will forgive. She may go red-faced at
this murky shirt, but can’t see me
crying either. She is a mother” he had said these big words with a very plain
voice.
His words
reverberated in my ears. I tried asking a few more questions but he seemed
least interested. He looked at the mountains, rivers, fields, meadows and then
slept. I found his tiny hands on pocket even in sleep. He was protecting those
rambutans. I laughed.
He had
nothing other than those rambutans and a few marbles. Still he felt so content.
He had stains on his clothes, but his heart as I could see, was very pure.
All of a
sudden, I longed for those wonderful days of childhood; days of murk, days of
rambutans. I felt sacrificing each and every thing that I possessed, just to
spend one day of childhood, again. I could have bartered the three elephantine
bags, which contained necessary documents, for those days of freedom. I was
ready to wear that murky shirt even, but in vain. The days of childhood are
priceless. They can’t be bartered for anything, even gold.
“Those days
won’t ever come back” I murmured in despair and then slept.
I woke up
to the sound of whistle. The train had reached Kolkata, from where I had to
board the flight to Bengaluru. I felt restless when I couldn’t find the boy on
the window seat. He was nowhere in the compartment.
“Where did
the boy go?” I asked the old woman.
“The one
with murk from head to toe?” she inquired.
“Yes” I
urged.
“He got
down at the previous station” she replied.
“Could he manage to bribe his mother?” again I asked
in utter curiosity.
The old woman
threw a strange look at me. I apologized to her and leaned towards the window.
“We would
never have enjoyed these wonderful rambutans, had there no rainy season after
summer. Each season has its own fruit. If we think of sweet mangoes, we can not
enjoy the rambutans. This is life all about”
said the old lady with stern looks. She patted on my shoulders even.
Her words
were magical. I could feel a new enthusiasm. A sense of excitement had started
to return in my nerves. I was getting ready for the new phase of life, like
never before.
After hours
of security check, I finally boarded the flight. I had picked a rambutan that
the boy had left in the train.
“Which fruit
is this, Sir?” asked a beautiful air
hostess
.
“Ram…
Rambutan” I replied in a very gentle tone.
“What?” her
hairs waved across her beautiful cheeks as she asked.
“A fruit of
rainy season, as sweet as you” again I replied. I felt confused, I would have
answered without adding these last words also.
She smiled and the plane took off for Bengaluru with all its passengers.
