No no. Not interested. Please keep it to yourself. I have seen enough monsoons and winters to know the difference between raindrops and frost. I have earned a lot of respect and I keep it on my head. I might be in the twilight of my life but I still have dreams. (I am even wearing my spectacles to keep my dreams clear.) I may not have a roof on my head and my bed may be stony but I am wearing my dignity on my body.
Let me sleep and dream peacefully. Keep your damn stories to yourself.
The Queen had become old and senile, living alone In a grand palace with only faithful Ram Singh to care for her.
Her children had left. settled abroad and forgotten her. Until they saw on TV that the Queen was no more and had left behind billions. So they flew down for the funeral.
As they waited to hear about the will, the attorney informed that the new owner of the palace was Ram Singh.
As the entourage left the palace gate, they saw Ram Singh sleeping on the parapet wall with the will beside him.
Waking up with the first ray, he entered the fields as the golden hues turned yellow and finally gray.
The old limbs toiled hard in the small green patch that adorned the parched surroundings; sweat was no longer the sole moisture around as clouds began to wrap the vastness while the precious little drops settled on everything they found.
â€œBaba, why are you smiling?â€œ asked Pari, shattering the dreams, making him rise with a start.
Longingly the old eyes looked at the sky as if saying, â€œThe poor farmer does not get to enjoy rains even in his dreams.â€.
Someday soon, he would with her, he thought, as he daydreamed of joining her and becoming the shining star like her who twinkled at night, .
Being born in the parched land of desert Is a curse. People like us have to travel unending distances to fetch waterâ€¦ the harsh sunlight only adds to our woes. Nomads like us survive on paltry fortunes bestowed by the tourists. However, respite from our chores is a mounting challenge. And we canâ€™t even abandon this life because itâ€™s synonymous with our identity. What my heart yearns for at this moment is slumber. I want everything to come to a standstill, everything to cease. Eternal sleep I want!.
Why I am still thinking about that nice dream I had last night? Why is it so blurred? I have grown, raised my family in this home, yet why I am still uncomfortable sleeping in this veranda? My son hasn't spoken to me after her last rituals; people say that he is like his mother. Why was he so nice to me when she was around?
I am sleeping here since morning hoping that dream will continue, but this dream is giving me chills even on this hot summer day. .
(Darkness hovering behind white clouds. Weather turning blue. Cool breeze caressing the dead crops. And finally the barren land felt a drop of water kissing it. And soon the green fields were bathing in the magical water they longed for.)
"Bapu, wake up. Landlord is back here again. You need to escape so that mom can use the same old excuse."
With dreamy eyes, he woke up, realising it was a beautiful dream and that if it came true, he'd never have to hide..
He looked frantically in the room. He was worried because he could not find it..
"Where are you?" he mumbled.
He finally found it. It was lying behind the trunk.
He smiled and hummed a song, tying his wife's scarf as his turban.
He had never stepped out without this scarf. This was the only thing of the wife he loved. The only connection to a love which died young because of cancer..
Life is a challenge and at times, it can make you weep
Iâ€™m ready to face it all; I just need a wink of sleep.
I donâ€™t mind my age. I still thrive to sweep my loved ones off their feet,
To do it all over again every day, I just need a wink of sleep
Hard work, courage and kindness is my life at a peek
For cherishing these values, I just need a wink of sleep..
I was looking at the clock, eagerly waiting for lunch break. When the bell rang, Siddhu and I ran out of class with the whistle. For a week, we had been having fun with the old man who sleeps in the playground by whistling in his ears. He never scolded us.
Today even after 5 whistles when he did not wake up, we felt bored and went to play cricket.
In the evening, there was a crowd near the playground and when I came to know the reason, I really wished he had scolded us..
"....I am no story-teller. Ask your dada. He spins stories like magic. I could never get enough of them..."
"Is it another of your excuses to keep me at home? I have work to be done."
"You know I can't win against you. Consider it your extended lunch break."
My trick worked. Before long, he fell asleep. I can now finish his work for him and with a good excuse. Ever since his son left him, he wouldn't let us help him with anything. How can you not help someone who gave you your life, when you had lost it?.
A premonition of death. A flashback of life.
Uncountable riches. A pretty better half. The largest mansion in the city. Costliest cars. Unimaginable power. Hundreds of people working for him. People's respect.
He had it all. But, did he?
He wished he could replace his achievements with successes. Happiness. A loving better half. A family to live with. Freedom to go unnoticed. Friends. People's love.
He let out a deep sigh.
"What's bothering you, dadaji?"
"Nothing beta. I feel better now."
With moist eyes, he said to himself, "It's the chances I did not take.".
"Are you happy now, my dear ?" asked Mirchand, and nobody replied . With teary eyes, he continued, "I am so sorry I did not pay attention to you earlier. I did not realise when my thirst for money took such a big toll on you, that you lost your life. The mansion we dreamed about is of no use to me now. I feel close to you here. I did not fulfil my promise then. I will fulfil it now." He curled back to sleep above his wife's grave..