एक ख्याल

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थोड़ा सा पाने की ज़िद में बहुत कुछ खो जाते हैं,

अहम की जीत में रिश्ते, अक्सर  हार जाते हैं.

BEST OUT OF WASTE

Pic Source- Link

Hi there,

How are you?

I have been searching the internet for some creative ideas for the last few days. The top on my list was making best out of waste and I found a treasure of new ideas. People out there are so creative, hats off to them.

There were loads of sites that gave ideas to transform total waste into beautiful usable things with just a dash of color here and there, a few funky items, and loads of creativity. After going through those sites I am sure I am going to get a little possessive for the broken things lying around my house. Who knows someday I might make something beautiful out of it.

And while I was busy reading those ideas for turning waste to best, a thought was brewing in the backdrop…

When we can make the best of waste with things then why not us.

Isn’t it true that we all feel lost sometimes, isn’t it true we all mess up with our lives and there seems to be no way out and we wonder it’s all over? It’s a mess. A waste.

Relax. Take a deep breath.

Dash up the mess with a silly smile, mix your tears with bright colours and draw some crazy dreams with it, sprinkle some optimism over your broken pieces and fix it all with the glue of hope. Yeah, I know it won’t be the same as old, but isn’t it good in a way? Sometimes some things need to be altered for the best. So be creative with the mess of your life and get as funky as you can.

All the best for the new venture of rediscovering, oops sorry remaking yourself.😊

P.S. – The Kindle edition of my novel ‘Beyond Secrets’ is available at 60% discount for a limited time period. To read a free sample click here.

Overdose of Nostalgia

Sometimes our memories can engulf us if we allow them to. 23rd December 2017 was one such day for me. A day that was so close to magic that just in 4 days’ time I am wondering, did it really happen? Or was it just a dream? You understand what I mean. Don’t you?

It was our 20th year school reunion. 20 long years. 2 decades. It’s a long time. Isn’t it? the world had been a different place since we left our alma matter in 1997.

But from an era of 

Outdoor games to mobile games

Walking to a friend’s home for chit-chat to sending forwarded messages on WhatsApp

Seeking love in people to seeking solace in technology

There are things that never change. In a distant hazy corner of our heart, we are still the same. Craving for a human warmth, a real connection and lots of love.

And I got all this on 23rd December. Lucky me. The thing with school friends is that you can pick up from where you left. We were planning for some icebreaker session but as soon as our friends started pouring in we realized we didn’t need any icebreaker. We were silly to even think of it. we started chatting as we were never separated, totally ignoring the changes in appearance caused by time, and surprisingly time had stopped for some, they were still the same.

We started the event the way we used to start our day in school, with a prayer, followed by the national anthem, thought for the day and news.

Memories are like bogies of a train, one pulls another. I loved when teachers and students shared their memories without the fear of being judged. Someone shared how they used to steal mangoes from a teacher’s garden, someone shared how they were bribed with imli and mango for some answers. And we couldn’t stop laughing. And as they shared a part of their life I was wondering, long back, maybe 20-25 years back when those incidents happened would they have imagined they will be sharing these things with a laugh in a crowd of about 100. And as they unshackled their memories I saw many faces smiling with glint of tears in their eyes.

It really needs courage to speak out that you realize your mistakes and I salute Kusum madam, our maths teacher when she admitted how she thinks it wasn’t right to judge students on the basis of their marksheets, no matter whether a child was average or a ranker they all are at happy places and it made her realise marksheet doesn’t matter in long run. She gave us the valuable advice to be not the kind of parent who forces their children to focus only on marks. Joshi madam, our Hindi teacher gave such a wonderful speech, she said she was proud to see that the saplings they nurtured have transformed to lush green crops dancing to the tune of winds in the meadows and that makes her feel happy. All the teachers gave their blessing in their own beautiful words. When you listen to such heart-warming words from your teachers you feel overwhelmed, in a moment you are smiling and the very next you are crying, and in some you are doing both.

The best part for me was touring around the school. It was an overdose of nostalgia. How much we have changed from nasty little kids to responsible parents but somewhere deep down aren’t we still the same? Seeking acceptance and love from all around us. Some emotions are so raw that they scare us. We are afraid to embrace them and we are afraid to push them aside. Somewhere we are still seeking what we used to, it’s just that we are scared to speak it aloud.

And as the event came to an end and we walked out I was wondering how long does it take for a magical day to surrender to memories. One moment, just a moment when we wrap a million of experiences in a secured corner of our heart where no time can snatch it away. A memory that will make us smile in our dark days. A memory that will remind us we had lived our life. A memory that we can count when we count the blessings of our life.

I can write pages after pages about what I felt that day and what I am feeling now reliving those memories but I have to stop somewhere. Now it’s time to share thoughts of some of my friends about this reunion. 

*************

Aarti Sharma:

Reunion brought all the childhood memories back which were buried behind day to day deadlines/commitments. In 4-5 hours we relived our childhood.

Hume humse dobara mila diya

Pranjal Desai:

Thanks almighty for giving me the strength to co-ordinate the function nicely.

Firstly, I would like to say that my father lifted the sand from the school stairs and applied to his forehead. It symbolized that school is temple from which I am learning so much and am proud of it. It was very nice meeting after 20 years and understand friends in a better way. Shared lot of stories, danced a lot and felt warmth of teachers. I would also thank my wife and children for supporting me in a big way. Kudos.

Tarun Parmar:

The scent of friendship has embraced the heart once again...

Those long lost memories have sprung up again..

I could still see that innocence in all my mates..

Lingering in the Nostalgia, opening up my

Brain's flood gates...

Walking down that porch, meeting the same old friends

Who made me so strong, because of them my life is still transcends...

We left each other a while ago, in a hope to find better life and friends,

How little did I know, life is a circle, it starts at the same place it ends...!!!

Pathik Almoula:

Once upon a time .... yes no less than a story! In 1997 when I moved out of my school with a disgraced pride, with lump of poor marks I had no clue what will I do in this life and would I ever like to come back to school to show my face. But it is the same school which taught us how to be resilient and bounce back. Yes it did teach and I did bounce! On 23rd morning of December 2017 Kumaril and I with many of you entered bowing down at staircase. Oh yes today also Kumar and I were together.

What I first recalled was the feeling of coming to school to see my 12th results. My heart pumped faster and with our age nearing 40s I realised that my BP also would have raised slightly. Then I walked through the corridor thinking OMG I am actually back in my school - IPCL School No.2, yeah that’s the name. While walking through classes and sitting back on benches I realised that my biggest gift was to make friends and not be judgemental (it’s only a pursuit)

Yes making friends, beyond class mates or batch mates. When I approached the hall it felt like playing Jumanji. All the characters whom we were whatsapping with, came alive and were grown up in size and still behaved the same like we did in school. Breathless selfie proves it all.

Like most of us I too felt the school looks small yet cozy. The Lyceum which use to make us feel like an achiever in battle field, felt like, home for a soldier coming back after the hiatus called (no less than a war) Life. I felt that what we are living today is just a result of what we lived then was truly Life. Growing up, and maturity felt kicked when I met all of you. Though it took me three attempts when Niru invited to speak in front of our teachers but finally I could speak or talk rather. 

Like characters of Chotta Bheem (I am trying to not refer to some fatsos including yours truly) we did some rewinding pranks and visited all those places in township where we all lived and loved!

When we parted in the evening I felt like Doremon and Nobita going back home after great day!

This blog will be incomplete without mentioning Pranjal who made this experience real! Yo bro! 

Totally enjoyed that day and again I walked out with pride but with grace, happiness and above all many more friends than I had in 1997. 

Looking forward, it’s payback time and would love to do something that makes us again united for a cause to help build an institution for the future of our nation (oh it sounds like an elocution). As a leadership coach I feel our school is “the place” which taught us situational leadership “jiski definition MBA mein sikhi 😜” . True example of situational leadership emerged when we were brought to principal sir’s room or when school no.1 guys messed with us!! 

I hereby volunteer to teach one full day in a year to 12th standard batch about leadership lessons which life teaches and a state board or ICSE or CBSE may not cover. Dear School - look forward to see you soon dude but next time for a purpose to return a bit what you gave us! Ciao!!

Dipal Naik :

I want to express a deep gratitude to all of my gurus ..a very very big THANK You 

This gratitude comes from those who are present here and from everyone else who could not make it. They remember you. 

Our first introduction with our respected Teachers... was that YOU were our parents when we left our own parents for that time of the day and beyond. 

YOU gave us a secure home( our second home) away from home. 12years prior, we entered the school scared and worried and 12 years later we walked out as grown up boys and girls with these epic memories that we have cherished for 20 long years. 

We were lost where to go at first day of school, we left leaving memories at each corner of school.

We still can't forget the competition, sports day , colourful annual functions , picnics our secret hideout and most memorable our scary results day !! 

Every year going to new class n getting new teacher , may it be first to second or 11th to 12th the anxiety remained same!!! 

The fun of recess time, exchanging our breakfast n at times eating under beach during the classes makes us happy but also brings tears in eyes.

Two years ago we planned for THIS BIG DAY .... n today we r all together....the bees saal baad gathering.....( speech written when I was in ICU)

*************

Thanks so much dear friends for sharing your thoughts here and making it a special place. A place where I can return to from no matter where I go.

I also want to share the messages of our teachers that were sent on Whatsapp, I don’t want those precious blessings to be lost in the plethora of messages we receive daily so I am preserving them here forever.

*************

Meena madam: 

It gives immense pleasure to see that our children have become so matured and understanding that they can take up any and every challenge in life. May God give them all the success and happiness they dream of. I am sure their children will also make them feel proud just as they have made us feel proud. May God bless them for everything.

Verma madam :

Thanx a lot to all students for very very lovely and memorable reunion. It was fun. Lots and lots of blessings to everyone who took pain to organize it in such a great way.

Joshi madam :

Yesterday Pranjal & co' s performance was " super she bhi upar ". Thanks a lot. God bless you all.

J R Desai Sir:

I didn't realize that you care so much. Athithi devo bhavo. Great job done by students for reunion, I was very happy to sit continuously for 4 to 5 hours and wanted to see more. But eventually when Niranjan completed his speech and I saw my watch I was surprised. I said to myself wow it was too fast to complete.

Jeevani Sir:

My dear little friends, " program me bahot Maja aaya that, Lekin ham sab ne ese mil liya etnese na chale, aap sab Ko mera request he ki jab bhi jisko time mile milne aya karoge to muje bahot achha lagega" may God bless u all.

Kusum Madam:

Dear students,

Thank you for everything ... showing love & respect, delicious food, gift...

Rekha Madam: 

Pranjal very well organised function. Thanks for everything. You all put lot of effort and are so good in this. It was perfect. not bored. I felt personally that you all become students .it was great fun. Bless you.

*************

In the end I just want to say, it was an experience for lifetime. An experience that connected us not only to our long-lost friends and teachers but also to ourselves.

And as that day is receding day by day, slipping into some unknown realm I am trying hard to hold on to whatever I can and you know what it is; memories. 

LIFE IS A BOX OF MEMORIES

Life is a box of memories, each in the form a butterfly. And I have named almost every butterfly.

The butterflies named childhood are the most colourful. They are in plenty; whenever they spread their wings they adorn my present. They gift me a smile. Every single time. But day by day they are flying out of my reach, returning to their origin. I wonder where those moments are right now; must be stored somewhere, maybe in some unknown dimension of universe yet to be discovered. As those butterflies fly away the myriad of colours in the box of my life is decreasing, but still I have a lot to boast of.

The butterfly named youth has a plethora of shades ranging from bright to dull, dark to light, intense to mild. Some are heavier than others. Some are closely attached to others, they fly in groups, I can’t see them one at a time. They all come together and then when they leave, they leave behind a trail of raw emotions. Emotions that tell a story, some complete, some incomplete.

There are countless butterflies from different phases of life. It is impossible to name them all. Some I didn’t name deliberately and some just wished to be free from any category. And sometimes I like nameless things. Kind of strange but it’s true. I like nameless relations, nameless emotions, nameless aspirations. It keeps us away from scary reality and liberates in a strange way.  

Some butterflies just flew out of my reach though I tried to chase them and then there are those stubborn ones who are not ready to move an inch. They stay hidden in a deep corner as if afraid to face the present, as if scared time will steal them if they resurface. Though they are so strong that they can conquer the present if they soar up. I wonder if they have signed a life time contract for that little space in the box.

And this forces me to wonder what kind of butterflies I am creating in my present. Are they colourful? Are they stubborn or weak? In future will they gift me a smile? Or tears? Are they enough to decorate my box when the older ones fly away?

By the way, how many butterflies are there in your box? Are there any stubborn ones? I am sure there are.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

PS - To read a free sample of my novel "Beyond Secrets" click here

Healing

Photo credit - Animesh Nautiyal

I am not afraid of the scars

I know they will fade away

I am worried about the feelings

That will be erased along the way

LIFE AND IT’S STRANGE WAYS

This is the story of a dear friend. I met her in my college days. Sorry, I can’t reveal her name for obvious reasons.

A boy proposed her when she was in school, in eighth grade. She refused, as they were just kids, moreover love marriages were a taboo in her orthodox family. But the boy was persistent. He did all the filmy things to win her, even gave her love letter written with blood. Yeah, that’s crazy, I know. It became impossible for a sweet little innocent girl to not fall for a smart, intelligent boy who wouldn’t stop trying. So, one day, still confused, she accepted his proposal. Well, accepted is not even the right word. She half accepted it.

She said they were too young and must wait till they reach a marriageable age. Then they can discuss it with their respective families, but till then they will be just friends. Sort of #halfgirlfriend thing. Though, at that time, there existed no such word. Time passed and their bonding grew, but being a part of an orthodox family the girl could somehow never convince herself for love marriage. In those times using a word like boyfriend in front of parents was no less dropping a grenade on them. After about 8 years of their friendship, she wrote a letter that was so long it could compete with a novella. She wrote it over days, capturing her tangled emotions in pages over pages, asking for a break up. Long back a love letter written with blood united them and years later a letter burdened under the weight of a responsible daughter departed them. He broke up. Though she had asked for it, but still him accepting the break up broke her and she used to cry for hours. I still remember once we were travelling in bus and the song played in the background “dil deta hai ro ro duhai kisi se koi pyaar na kare” (heart is in pain and pleads not to fall in love). she cried for hours listening to that song. Till date, whenever I hear that song her face clouds my memory.

Soon she shifted to another city because of her father’s job transfer. We couldn’t talk much after that since there were no mobiles and internet wasn’t easily available. After a few years, she invited me to her marriage. I couldn’t gather the courage to ask if she was happy or if she still missed her old friend. I congratulated her and wondered if her old friend knew this or not? And if yes, how he must feel? I think a lot, even about people I have never met. May be that’s the reason I get the answers, sometimes even years later.

Years passed, and I joined a firm where I met a man whose name was same as that of the boy I am talking about. Thoughts of my friend cluttered my mind as I was being introduced to him. As soon as I was back to my cabin I checked his file. (A benefit of being in HR Dept. You can access all employee files.)

I checked his resume.

Same surname

Same school
Same year of passing
Married

And the file fell from my hand. It was odd, because my friend was married and it was wrong to expect he was still unmarried. A thousand thoughts cluttered my mind and the most prominent one was does he still remember her? Well, again the answer awaited me.

Our office was on outskirts of the city and one day I missed my office bus, so the same colleague offered me lift. I had no choice but to take the offer of the gentleman. When he started talking I was surprised for I never knew he was so talkative. He talked about his wife and kids.

And then…

He spoke about school. He said “I had such wonderful friends in school. One was so special”

And there was a sudden pause as he was lost in some other world. I got my answer.

Life has its strange ways. They both are at happy places, faithful to their respective partners, somewhere still preserving the precious moments lost in time. I was a witness to a beautiful story that unfolded bit by bit and I got all my answers. Answers that told me separation is not always a sad ending. Love is not only about marriage. It is about a bond that connects two people beyond time and place.

I was inspired to write this post after watching trailer of the upcoming Hindi romantic film Half Girlfriend. It is based on the novel of the bestselling author “Chetan Bhagat” and has a fabulous star cast of Arjun Kapoor and Shraddha Kapoor.

The trailer successfully captures the confused mind of today’s youth. Friend or girlfriend? Sometimes people are unsure what they want. Their priorities waver between society and love, ambitions and relationships. And a havoc is created when one is sure and the other is not, what exactly happens here. Our smart but non-English speaking Madhav falls in love with the sexy and suave Riya, who is unsure of her relationship with Madhav. And hence starts the roller coaster of emotional ride that pulls you to the extremes of joy and then drags you to the depths of pain. The passion in the eyes of the hero is what I liked the most. The surety, the commitment, dipped in a wave of pain – it always attracts me and so it did this time. The movie looks promising and I will join their roller coaster ride as soon as it hits the theatre on 19th May. What about you?

“I am sharing a Half relationship story at BlogAdda in association with #HalfGirlfriend”

अधूरी नज़्म

Also published in AajSirhaane

अपनी पुरानी डायरी के पन्नो को पलटते हुए

बीते हुए पलों से मिलना चाहती थी

एक नज़्म दिखी उसमे अधूरी सी

उस अधूरी नज़्म को मैं पूरा करना चाहती थी

एक चौथाई पन्ने पर सिमटी

कुछ जख्मी से एहसासों में लिपटी

शायद मुझे कुछ याद दिलाना चाहती थी

उस अधूरी नज़्म को मैं पूरा करना चाहती थी

मेरे अपने ही वो ज़ज़्बात जैसे गैर हो चुके थे 

शब्दों की तरह अब कुछ धुंधले हो चुके थे

धुंधले से उन शब्दों को -जज्बातों को जाने क्यों पढ़ना चाहती थी

उस अधूरी नज़्म को मैं पूरा करना चाहती थी

कुछ शब्द नए जोड़े पर वो उसमे घुल न पाए

किसी पुरानी जीन्स में रफू की तरह अलग से उभर आये

अपने कल से अपने आज को जाने क्यों जोड़ना चाहती थी

उस अधूरी नज़्म को मैं पूरा करना चाहती थी

एक रोज मेरे ही दिल से निकली थी

लेकिन आज मुझसे ही कुछ अजनबी सी थी

कुछ कह कर भी कुछ छुपाना चाहती थी

शायद... हाँ शायद...

वो नज़्म अधूरी ही रहना चाहती थी

Hope

Photo Credit - Asha Dimri

Hope is a good thing

It keeps me waiting for the love to return

Not a person but a feeling

Deep, tough, true

Unafraid of the pain it brings

But fearful of its absence

Of the void it leaves

When it's all gone

Love, faith, dreams

And the endless stories

Incomplete or with sad endings

Hope is a bad thing

It keeps me waiting

For what doesn't exist

A mirage?

A truth wrapped in a lie?

Or memories to turn real?

I don’t know what exactly

But it keeps me waiting

For the unreal

And I am happy

Or sad? I don't know

Hope is a strange thing

It keeps me alive between dead moments

The moments that belonged to me

Yet were strangers

It mends the broken dreams

Fills in the cracks of reality

And makes it new

As if it was never broken

Dreams and heart are anew

Sometimes for a moment

And sometimes a little longer

Isn't Life All About Choices

Isn't life all about choices.

Choice between passion and career

                              Duties and responsibilities
                              Emotions and realism
                              Heart and brain

Sadly, the list is endless.

And as we select one of the two, do we really leave the other? Or we leave a part of us with the one we abandon or rather pretend to abandon.

Lost in these thoughts, I saw my 5-year-old submerging a painting in water. Hesitantly, slowly, the colors dissolved in water, leaving its soul - the painting.

And I wondered aren’t we all like that faded painting, losing our colors bit by bit, every time we leave the water – oh, I mean one precious thing for other in life.

Time is a Businessman

The tiny drops dancing on my balcony and my childhood photo album in my hand, it pulled me to a faraway world and I meekly surrendered. I met a stranger there. It was me.

And looking at her I thought about time, which bit by bit, stole her.

Time is a perfect businessman, at every turn, it give us something, but not without taking away a bit from us.

He traded

My innocence for maturity

My vulnerability for strength

My careless laughs for thoughtful smiles

My crazy dreams for real ambitions

And as time passed, I became a little more rational, a little more practical, a little more mature.

But... a little less me.

And a time came I couldn’t cry as I used to, laugh as I used to and sometimes even love as I used to.

The layers of different seasons that covered us are too hard, too deep to dig into to find the real us. And sometimes in a moment of solitude when we are just about to reach ourselves, we are pulled back by work, kids or the practical world around us and we are just consumed by another demand of life.

And the stranger slowly drifts back into the mist of time.

Memories

Photo Credit - Asha Dimri

So true are the words said above, the world of memories is a puzzle. So far, yet so near...so real yet so surreal. It often plays hide and seek with our busy routines. Mostly present take over those memories but there are moments when those memories bounce back so profoundly that we forget every priority and surrender meekly to them. At times it feels like a shadow, it follows us where ever we go, a part of us that in an instant lives within us and in other leaves us.

A faint memory of my school days that still brings a smile to my face is of my school friend, Sheela. I was in 3rd or 4th standard, I don’t remember exactly. I forgot to keep my compass box that day. When I asked her if she has an extra pencil she smilingly handed me her pencil. After some time when I turned back, I saw she was just sitting. When asked, why she was not taking down the notes, she innocently replied “I had only one pencil’. That incident introduced me to a whole new relationship with her. It was innocence of childhood that she didn’t bother to miss her notes, that made me wait for her in the middle of running competition, that made our relation precious than our ambitions.  Her father was transferred in a short while. I was too small to realise that once lost I won’t be able to regain her contact. The only thing I realized at that time was the pain of departing. As much as I missed her I couldn’t regain her contact. Thanks to facebook it has reunited me with many lost friends but not Sheela, I don’t ever remember her last name, I spent hours searching for her just to feel disappointed and accept that she is no more a part of my life. And I am left only with faded memories of her innocent face and her two little knots tied in red ribbons - and of course our indefinable bonding.

Other faint memory I would like to share is of our little puppy; it was a street dog that I and my friend Dipali fed every day. We created a small house for him. Making him sleep in a blanket became a routine. Waking up early in the morning and rushing outside to see if he was safe became our biggest excitement, which we eventually lost when we lost him in a road accident. Days passed before I stopped crying, months passed before life became normal, years passed before I could forget his appearance but no time could steal his sweet memories from me.

These are just snapshots from the album of my memories - some sweet, some sour, of people who are still a part of my life, of people whom destiny took apart. I envy time, it has all those hidden moments captured in its existence; well, although it can take away the moments from me but memories are mine. It’s my little world wherein I can live everything I desired, I treasured, I lost. Shattered dreams, moments of joy, tears, laughter everything comes alive in a moment – it’s a world that I can visit but not stay. After all, memories are like tides and shores are like present; the tide comes and touches its shores, and moves back leaving it wet.

Forever...

Photo credit - Asha Dimri

He waved a goodbye to his family as he left for the war. But then before entering the train he walked back to his family. Goodbye becomes tougher when you are not sure it’s not the last one.

He tried hard to conceal his pain as he lifted his daughter and kissed her.

“Daddy, why is mumma crying?” she asked as he put her down.

“She will miss me.”

“Tell her you will come back soon and then we will stay together. Forever.” her brown eyes twinkled with hope.

Forever… the word lingered in the air, the weight of that word was so much that he couldn't reply.

“Promise?” she asked.

“Promise” He forced a smile and walked towards his wife.

“You promised me you will be strong.” He took her hand in his.

“It’s not easy but I am trying.” She couldn’t make it any more than a whisper.

They hugged before he got into the train. He wished the time to stop then and there, he wanted to spend some more time with her daughter, get amazed by her crazy talks, be with his wife and enjoy all the caring, be with his mother and support her through her last days but alas this wasn’t his destiny. Warfield was waiting for him with uncountable struggles.

He waved them as long as he could see them, and long after that. He wondered what his daughter must be talking about; moon or stars or dolls or fairies? He imagined his wife smiling at her crazy stories, imagined his mother singing lullabies to her daughter.  For he knew Imagination was the only place he could meet them; at least for a long time to come. Or forever?

He fought bravely for his country, for people he didn’t knew, for you, for me, for people who were not connected to him but still connected. But then one day in the war field, a small bullet robbed him of his big dreams.

And as his heartbeats slowed down…

The last sound he heard was the deafening noise of bombs and bullets…and then a dead silence in which echoed the sweet voice of his little princess…promise…

The last sight he saw was of countless dead bodies, smoke and dust….and then it all vanished…he saw her daughter running towards him, her favorite doll still in her hand.

The last touch he felt…of bullet… and once again he drifted towards imagination…touch of her tender hug… and with it he lost the touch of a desire to be with his family forever…forever…

Forever… the word reverberated as he closed his eyes, for the last time.

Death of a soldier is not a single death, it is death of a mother, a father, a sister, a wife, a child, it is death of a family, of uncountable dreams, thousand unmet promises and infinite hopes. A life goes out and a body returns; the pain is unfathomable, his family was a partner in his bravery and his sacrifices. Family of a soldier deserves a salute as well.

“Mumma, why papa is sleeping, why is he not talking to me?” the little princess asked when the dead body came home, unaware of what she has lost. 

Mumma had no reply for her painfully innocent questions; her questions only led mumma to cry louder.

Did I say something wrong? She wondered “I am sorry mumma, why are you crying? Actually it is good, he is sleeping so now he won’t go back. He will stay with me forever.” she pained mumma further in lieu of comforting her.

It would be long before she would understand that all her dreams to spend a life with her father were unreal, when she would see other children her age sitting on their dad’s shoulder she would just look around searching for her lost father. But…He was gone. Forever? The word was same but the meaning it carried was not, it transformed completely; from hope to pain and dreams to emptiness.

But in spite of all the diversity it entailed forever was not a fake word. He was gone and not yet gone. He lived forever in memories of his loved ones and in the freedom we are proud of.