Years passed on and Jyoti experienced in firsthand what parenthood was really like. Vrindavani gave birth to a healthy mature boy; they named him Joy as his birth gave them immense joy. But what Vrinda and Jyoti did not realize was the fact that they were going to be trapped into a cruel game of destiny and fate. Jyotirmoy and Vrindavani worked round the clock in their respective offices to get Joy the best of everything, thus sacrificing things for themselves as well. Jyotirmoy was beginning to comprehend, rather decode what his parents went through as the years passed on.
Bablu was too small to understand what sacrifices his parents were making so that he could grow up just like any other kid, without any difficulties. Time flew away and Bablu was soon walking all over the house, leaving his befuddling muddy footsteps everywhere. “Bablu!” Sujata cried seeing all the mess.But deep within, a sense of satisfaction has set in her by seeing how swiftly her little Bablu was growing up. The compromises kept on increasing and Ashok had to struggle to make both ends meet. To add to all the hustle, Ashok was as honest as one could be, refusing anything lucrative given to him under the desk. However, ideals would not fill an empty stomach; Ashok would often receive curses from her wife.
Shramana broke down into uncontrollable tears, and did not stop no matter how much Arijit told her to. From the looks of it, she definitely was going through a breakdown. That is when little Nirbhay got down from his chair and hugged his mother. Surprisingly enough, Shramana consoled herself restricting her tears as much as she could. It was no surprise that Sarla, Shramana’s mother did not survive the accident and Shramana attributed herself for the death of her mother.
Seldom have I seen a boy of my age (17 yrs.) with so much intellect and natural reasoning as his. He has an excellent logical ability and reasoning which may be compared to any world-class detective. The boy I’m referring to is Zaid and he prefers to be called ‘Z’ in short. “Sounds sexy” is his standard reply if anybody asks why. His dream was to become a detective and he literally ate, slept and drank detective novels throughout the world of varying writers. Hercule Poirot, Sherlock Holmes, Feluda, Byomkesh Bokshi, Shawn Spencer, Thomas Magnum was among his private investigator heroes, but he adored Clouseau from Pink Panther as well. I am just his best friend stealing a chance to write down some good detective stories (based on true events of course!).
The white stick demanded to be smoked, it was luring me somehow and images of my father smoking one at the end of every day inspired me. Most sons try to impersonate their fathers, in matters good and bad, they are their heroes, after all. I smoked one, the first drag parched my throat, a cough rose from my belly, but I desperately tried to suppress it.
The headlines read: “Hindus and Muslims engaged in a heavy riot and blood feud.” Up above, Bhagwaan and Allah shared a sigh.
An expected lazy Sunday afternoon turns agitating.