He has already enjoyed the game of splashing the dirty rain water, that got stuck in a crater on the outskirts of the city. Mukul comes daily to enjoy, being an ‘escapist’ to forget about his punctured life, to have a talk with the Almighty, to laugh at street puppies who often response well to him. A place where he is free to wear his antics without anyone around to scold him, where his disrepair can be buried deep at least for a while. He has a feeble voice, so no appeal can be made to the meddlers, who often distract him from his job for those 2 hours. As he moves down the line he often frowns on catching the glimpse of what he sees around him.
'Sab Padhen Sab Badhen', the quote squeaks the line Right to Education of our constitution. The bold characters, in Hindi, were simple enough for Mukul to brood on. He quickly fishes for something inside his pant pockets and grins. No chalk, no pencils and his young self deserted to live in the slum. His eyes filled with fire but the clumsy reality that he his gonna be the same throughout his life, calms his soul down. The four golden words were still there on the advertisement board, staring right into his eyes. The young blood finally decided to move on.
The thin spokes shone cleverly attracting his small eyes. Spokes that were bound to circulate, kidnapped well between the rims of the cycle. Mukul thought, "Can I ride the 'Concorde' ever in my life?" and removed his small eyes, finally. The burnout dangling in his mind was enough to add the adjective 'timid' to his self. Few more difficult steps and there came the big roar: the pseudo bigwig of the city Mr. Kapil Sharma, the delegate representing BJP and begging for votes exploiting the innocent audience. By the time his Mahindra Commander passed by the market Mukul sat beneath a tree to watch the drama. After 1min, he laughed and urged his legs to reload the power so that he can move further. But why he smiled? Coz the young ambassador could foresee the future of his village: JUST THE SAME AS IT IS NOW.
Well the main reason of his sudden mirthful reaction was that he did not wanted to be accused of giving a 'headshot' to the chum of India's dirty politics. The famished boy now had another appalling view to applaud for. Many villagers in their red/green torn shirts, well bathed with sweat, had organized a long queue to get the money as promised by 'Prime Minister’s Rozgar Yojana'. "Are they gonna get it today?" Mukul thought and his genie, too fast to answer, replied "no". Many saw them, with great sympathy, for his leg, as he progressed further. But Mukul had the right action to perform: he jibbed over their concerned look, which was intrusive enough for him.
He did not wanted to deprive his stomach for what it deserves. So he hurried, now enjoying his jocose part of the return journey back to home. Finally at the door step Kamla – Mukul's mother, grabbed her son tightly in her arms. Giving the reward to the champ for his derring-do (after all he returned home safely). The sweet hug was enough to inveigle tears from Mukul's eyes but he did not show them. She washed his hands and made him sit on a plastic sack to place the dinner for his hungry self. 'White rice with coconut water' the daily night show on banana leaf stood in front of him, but it failed to disturb Mukul's composure once again. He liked to blow away the candle light, which was placed in the corner of the room and so he did before landing his body besides his mother for the daily night dream. With one hand on Mukul's forehead Kamla slept early, but the sad athelete had his eyes still open. The farrago of thoughts, titled as: Future India whipped in his brain nerves. Gleaming skyscrapers would continue to touch the sky but inside the core of the nation the 'poverty bacteria' will continue to spread its reign more deeply inside the nerves and leaving many like him to only think on the lousy Indian Nervous System.
Finally putting his one hand on his mother's body, the young fellow closed his eyes.
Very nice writing Gaurav....like it very much
Vipin
good way of expression. gaurav. very neetly and clearly u have expressed the farrago going on indian slun childs brain.
keep it up "MR WRITER".Tooooooooooo good.
wating 4 the next one.........