Holocaust of Dreams..part 2

Contine from Part 1.....

     The train was on right time so do We. Here begins my unwanted, untimely journey from Nagpur to New Delhi in Tamilnadu express jam-packed with Tamilians. I was still standing outside the train on platform number 1 with a Sleeper Class Ticket in my hand waiting to get confirmed and me waiting for next instruction likely to get either from my brother or from the station announcer. A mellifluous breeze immixed with the aroma of oranges blew gently across my face. I noticed an old age lady selling the so called best oranges in India next to me. The woeful plight of her life can be easily seen in the wrinkles covering her skin in a same way as the quality of those rotten oranges can be judged by the wrinkles on their peels. Why I was looking at the wrinkles on the rind of that oranges instead of enjoying its sweet aroma. Why all of a sudden I started looking at the other side of life which is not so beautiful.

    She slowly lifted her bamboo woven basket half filled with oranges to put on her head and started moving towards the other end of the train perhaps to find new buyers for her product. My eyes were glued to her paralytic walk until I had to step back to give way to the approaching Handcart of a magazine seller.

    
   I stepped into S6 coach being declared least worst-occupied after thorough examination of the full train and thereafter confirmation by one of my cousin who was there.

   
   Inside the coach I somehow managed to find a safe place for my little belongings and walked back to the door with one eye still fixed to that and other searching my beloved ones through the metal bar framework of passing windows. By the time I reached the door the train had already been signaled to run. I saw my father walking in a direction of  the moving train and waving his hand to bid me adieu. I waved back at him till few other passengers pushed me inside while rushing into the coach already filled well above its capacity ......(To be continued...)

Holocaust of Dreams...part 1

It was precisely 1st of July 2003. The heat was soaring high as I landed on the soil of Panipat to join the world of professionalism. Right out of the college with so many dreams blooming in the eyes and likely to be snuffing out by none other than me….

Reason behind the feeling of such a deep remorse lied in the unacceptable fact that my Education has come to end unexpectedly…my college days were over at my teenage only…I will be away from home, my family by a distance almost half the span of India. Mobile phones had not yet shed the crown of luxury and incoming calls were part of Tariff, enough to dread a middle class guy to think of it. Newly purchased clothes in a brand new Aristocrat suitcase (The first branded luggage carrier of mine) were piled up decently. The other bag had few packets of snacks which my mother had prepared for me a day before my scheduled departure……….
Oh departure…..the memorable day…27 June 2003


Train was scheduled to depart from Nagpur station at 2.00 PM and I was expected to meet my aunt who was staying near to station. I hurriedly tallied the items listed in a diary to the one lying slapdash on the bed before putting them inside the bag. After taking the blessings of mother I brought my luggage out and my brother had pulled our kinetic Luna on road. I hopped on to pillion as he cranked it. A bag on my shoulder, a suitcase gripped between my brother’s thighs while he turned the accelerator and blessings of my parents were all I was taking along with me. My father pedaled his cycle all the way to my aunt’s house and reached before us (How did he achieve that feat? I know the answer and only I). After some Hi-Bi ceremony and slipping a 500 Rupees note offered by aunt into my pocket we left for the station.....(To be continued)

Holocaust of Dreams

I never dreamt of becoming a writer ( Am I now?...Not really)… when I registered here, the questions that formed queue in front of me were…why I am doing this?...what exactly I will be writing?...would it be worth that someone somewhere will ever waste his time to give damn to my words…my thoughts????.

The answer I got was…..Kya fark padta hai!!!........who cares…...just go on…..

So friends…here I am with my first blog ever…sharing my life experiences in the form of short stories under the Blog…….."These Broken Dreams"

The first story is all about my joureny from Nagpur to New Delhi towards the..."Holocaust of Dreams"