Let my INK SPLASH

                It was 9:40 pm, paa on bed and maa sitting beside me on the armchair taking the dinner. We all were watching ‘Desh k Dhurandar’ a show at NDTV India. The show was trying to probe into the lives of the famous Indian cricketers- Sachin, Yuvraj, Dhoni etc. Basically the ambition was to forecast the zoom in version of the piercing pebbles that were laid on the path to success of these cricket heroes. From the way they looked in their diapers to the way they look holding the golden cup in their powerful hands- the reporters prepared a whole bunch well to shake the young Indian youths.

A perfect documentary presenting a museum of pictures, Dhoni hitting a six as Sachin lifting his bat high in the air- all enough to paint a smile on every Indian’s face. The show offered a gist of biographies of all 3 of them. The way their talent erupted and well fed from the initial stage- all with the help of relatives and yes their magic wand: a cricket bat. It was an inspiring story session that every Indian boy, who love cricket in any form, wants to be in.

The show then threw some light on their ground realities bringing out what Sachin dreamt about and how he is breathing cricket every second since his childhood days. And it was then when my father asked me “Gaurav beta, what you dream about?” with a smile on his face and lots of expectation gleaming in his eyes. Although my eyes met his for a fraction of second but that was enough to feel the blaze. That was all enough to remind me that I have to be mature now and have to accomplish what I don’t look at. That I am growing up, that I shouldn’t waste time anymore, that now I should breathe my goal.

Such moments force you to ponder in length and they help you to be on the right side of the court too. They are not to bring tears in your eyes but they are to poke you so that you stop dreaming, so that you can trigger your actions well before time to achieve those dreams and so that you wake up to run amidst the realms.

I smiled coyly but tried to talk to him by telepathy, to assure him, to say just one thing-

“I will DAD, I will...”

Is going home always delightful? The answer to the same erupted in a most horrible way to me during this holi vacation. Need not mention, it was like fleeing from all college worries but unfortunately there was no direct bus to my home town Renukoot. So I took the one that was ready to drop me about 50kms behind at Chopan. I took a place near the end of a seat and one not beside a window as the rough wind would dangle my hairs- disturbing for my profile look. I felt like am on a religious tour as the primary constituents of the vehicle were all senior citizens. Not even a single young pretty girl around to disturb my hormonesL. No more choices left- I finally tucked in my head phones to feed in some music inside me. Travelling in these roadways buses during festive periods of the year will surely remind you of ‘Kumbh Mela’ (a hindu festival) as you are bound to hear the chit-chats of the chaos breathing loudly all around you. And it is then you notice that you should have spent some more to buy a high volume music phone.

My journey takes a break at Mirzapur- a stop to appease the thirsty bus engine and the thirsty travellers too. It was then I found that I forget to make my purse heavy before sprinting from the hostel. And thus I was ‘unable’ to eat. The clock winked at me saying 8 p.m. & I’d reach home not later than 12 a.m.- so not to worry much. My belly then decided to relax and remain unconcerned for the cries of the mice within it. At this point of time it is important to mention that ‘I am not frugal’ (for a girl who reads this ;)). Journey continues and some new members of the bus replace the old ones. The yellow eyes of the government vehicle kept itself busy in hunting down for the obstacles around the corners while the driver alarms them through the monotonic horn- an aversion for me. The road appeared strange and spooky as it revealed itself amidst the dark atmosphere. It was strangely calm all around.

9:30pm suddenly I felt like the bus shifted in a frenzy state and it came right when my ears noticed the long high pitch cry of the engine. It was a sleaze stop for all of us. The tube carrying water to the radiator burst out and white smoke from the engine dressed the air then. Call of driver to get out of bus and now we were on the roads. As no water was lying in vicinity the conductor asked the head-station at Mirzapur to send another one. Meanwhile, the ramshackle driver was gifted with all the nonsense advices from the mob. Although I am an engineering student but not yet learnt to calm down an angry mob with my worthy scientific reasons. All they demanded of was to reach home even at the cost of being exploded. The driver was continuously molested to drive the bus slowly till the next stop- drama lasted for about 3hrs.

12 a.m. I thank God for not displaying a mercy killing of the driver :D. Another bus arrived and people jumped at ots opening without giving a thought to the pain they were supplying to others. It was getting more tiresome.

4 a.m. Chopan, the 2^nd last stop, welcomed me with just one street light and a cold breeze. Half an hour swept away and since last afternoon no food in my belly. As the chilling air kept sucking the left over heat a bolero speeding away took a time to care for this teenager. I am not a hitchhiker so am not well aware of the meetings with strangers and so the uncle inside with long beards appeared a lot pesky to my mind. But when you sense the happiness of home food closing in it is worth giving such freaky guy a company. Finally I was in Renukoot when my clock punched me shouting 6 a.m. i just dozed off on bed at home. “What a delightful journey”