Dedicated to a friend

I had once attempted to force open the doors.I had once dreamt.I had once waded through deep mud in those trenches,hoping to find green and sunshine on the other side.
Some of us got waylaid ,some others went all the way -I hope to glory.
The path was strewn with loneliness,fears,dangers and risks.
To be fair, the journey had its moments too.
But today as I look back , and ask what came of it in the end ?The answer lies in a name.
My friend, who held a beacon in one hand ,and marched forward through all the hopelessness,his other hand gripped mine.He warned me, I dare not give up.
Suddenly I lost his hand.I stumbled ,groping for him in the dark.
The treacherous road sometimes got even the best among us.A black tunnel ahead had engulfed him.
I was scared.I had to find a way to get out of there,into the real world of meaningless lives and meaningless deaths.
Only, I know,One day soon, my friend will fight the darkness and emerge into the spotlight amidst cheering crowds.
I do not know if he will remember the hand that he had held and let slip away.
But my love for him is undying,his spirit continues to inspire me to jump back into the trench alone,once again .
I dare not give up .

Courage!

Last Saturday morning, his parents took him to the first formal interview of his life.
For those who do not know,in India,little girls and boys are interviewed for basic English and math abilities before they can be admitted to nurseries in schools.
For a whole week, he was made to recite nursery rhymes,practice writing numbers and revise the alphabets.
Smart as he is, he finished all this in no time,  then ran off to fight his imaginary adversary with a 'ninja-sword' (he even goes to sleep with a plastic rod tucked behind him,inside his shirt) combined with his ingenious 'Milja (ninja) technique'.
My little four year old friend, had topped the tests and mock interviews at his prep school. Confident he will do well in the real one, his parents dressed him and marched him to the Principal's office on a Saturday.
The Principal - a respectable grey stern gentleman, looked through his glasses, and asked ' Whats your name?'
The deep voice emanating from such a grim face could unnerve any grown-up.
But sure enough, that was  no challenge to my brave young boy-friend, for he stamped his right foot forward, as if to crush a gnat, narrowed his eyes, looked straight at the man, drew out his imaginary sword and declared in his gravest tone, 'I am Milja Hattori,beware of my sword !'




He was admitted anyway. He is about to start classes from spring.

Never Rich ,nor poor (Series name:Already I'm ....cry)

From another grey city,I pulled out an old book,turned to a chapter,whose memory fades each day.The pages are now musty.Are the impressions still alive?

We stood under the dim blue street lamp,you had bought me an ice cream from the remnants of your wallet.Kwality-Walls Cornetto,my favourite at the time.
You loved the left over biscuit cone,with little ice cream sticking to it.The heat radiating from the asphalt road,quickly melted my scoop.

I looked at the girl and the boy sitting inside an air-conditioned cafe, and sighed.Some day,we will afford cafe dates too,we dreamt.
So what else can jobless lovers do?Buy visitor's passes at the city airport's departure lounge.
Spend hours together inside an a.c facility,unintentionally see off thousands and thousands of unknown witnesses to different cities around the globe.

After that evening,we had not met for a month.

When we finally did,you handed me fifteen hundred rupees.A handsome amount in those days.The first money you had ever earned.

I don't remember what that first job was,but it was part time.For which,you had to sneak out every day,hiding from all who disapproved,travel quite a distance,stay on till late.And I remember you were just twenty.