Leave and Live

By Pravin Chunarkar

This book traces the journey of Dhiraj, a simple village boy who comes to the big city. This young lad with a heart of gold is bewildered at the pace of city life and struggles to adjust to his new environment and new friends. Love, friendship, the importance of studies, relationships and more is dealt with in this coming of age novel. Dhiraj has his ups and downs as he tries to fit in into this new, fascinating but sometimes scary urban landscape. His neighbour, Sanjay Uncle, a painter, plays an important role in Dhiraj’s evolution. Gazing at his neighbour’s paintings, Dhiraj learns how to interpret art as a manifestation of emotions and events...and that transforms his life. But, does he succeed in facing the challenges of urban living or does the big city engulf him? Read on to find out...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notion Press
• Release date: Jul 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9789352061426

Book preview

LEAVE AND LIVE

Pravin Chunarkar

Notion Press

Old No. 38, New No. 6

McNichols Road, Chetpet

Chennai - 600 031

First Published by Notion Press 2015

Copyright © Pravin Chunarkar 2015

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-93-52061-42-6

This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.

No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover page painting conceived by Supriya Bakshi and painted in oil on canvas by Nitin Chunarkar.

To

Aai and Baba

Special thanks to Sachu, Sonu and Arpan

Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

1. Paintings

2. View of the Village

3. Nishnat my Friend

4. New School and a Girl

5. I’m also one of you

6. Why are they Laughing at me?

7. Importance of small things

8. Something Suspicious in Village

9. Help from a Friend

10. And the Reason is…

11. A Secret Club

12. The Melancholy

13. Greetings and not Greeting

14. Tragedies

15. A Mysterious Death

16. Overriding Attitudes

17. A Secret Warning

18. The Quarrel

19. Unacceptable

20. The World of Sorrows

21. Know Yourself

22. The Treasure of Life

23. Precious Truths

24. Count me in

25. Life Goes on…

26. Deception

27. Precious Truth Revisited

28. The Tour

29. A Farewell

30. The Healing Power

1. Paintings

It was June 13, 2003. The summer seemed to have ended but the weather wasn’t cold enough yet. The sun had stretched its infinite golden arms over the skies as the needles of the clock showed five o’clock. Shantinagar , a small, congested, but beautiful society, was experiencing its usual evenings. The traffic on the narrow roads was proliferating slowly and a few pedestrians were out for a walk.

Diwakar, a man in his early thirties, was walking through one of the lanes in the society. He was tall and slim with wheatish complexion, wearing clothes which were hanging loose on him. He had an old bag in his right hand, which appeared to have been bought from a rural shop.

All of a sudden he stopped, looked back, and said over his shoulder, Dhiraj speed up, we’re about to reach.

Behind Diwakar was a fifteen-year-old boy of average height, walking heedlessly and much slower. His skin colour and style of dressing were similar to Diwakar’s. Listening to him, the boy raised his face and said, Yes uncle.

Shantinagar was not unfamiliar to them. But within a span of six to seven years, a few changes had taken place there. Many of the houses had been extended. The trees had grown. But many things still remained the same: like the narrow road on which they were walking, which was around fifteen feet between the two houses on each side.

They reached the big, black iron gate of one of the houses. Their journey of one and half hours had finally ended. Both of them looked at each other.

Is anyone inside or not? Diwakar asked Dhiraj.

But Dhiraj was quiet, his sullen expression from the past few days remaining unchanged.

Diwakar raised his hand and opened the gate. The house had undergone drastic changes. The front yard was small, and a staircase in the front made the yard look even smaller. But the arrangement of pretty plants would cheer anyone.

Diwakar rang the doorbell. The sound of chirping birds echoed through the house. A few moments later, a lady in her forties opened the door. She was fair, fit and beautiful and was wearing a yellow saree with a border of saffron coloured large flowers. Her broad lips were a distinctive feature on her face.

She smiled; they too smiled back at her.

She said, I’m sorry, I was quite busy, but why did you come so late?

Actually sister, we left Sohogaon pretty late, as a number of people came for Dhiraj’s departure, and we had to wait for all of them, Diwakar explained.

Okay, come inside both of you.

Dhiraj looked at the lady who was his father’s cousin and then at Diwakar. They removed their footwear at the front door and went inside.

The house was more beautiful inside: walls painted light blue, lovely photos of landscapes hanging on the wall, a big TV and neatly arranged chairs and a couch. They sat on the nearest chairs and relaxed. Dhiraj’s aunt sat on the couch.

Dhiraj, how big have you grown! It’s hard to recognize you after such a long time, she said, and there is a slight moustache above your lips now.

Dhiraj smiled lightly. She was trying to make him as comfortable as she could.

"Where is Rajiv bhau? Hasn’t he come?" Diwakar asked.

He gets late sometimes, but I told him that you both are coming, so he may try to come as early as possible.

Okay, said Diwakar.

And Dhiraj, there is a boy named Rohan staying at the end of the road; you met him a few years ago, do you remember? I told his mom that my nephew is coming to join Rohan’s school this year. His family is very simple and Rohan is also a good boy. Both of you’ll be good friends, she said.

Dhiraj nodded his head in agreement but said nothing.

Oh no! I didn’t bring anything, sorry, she said.

She went into the kitchen and both of them relaxed further. She quickly returned and offered them glasses of water.

Both of you freshen up; I’ll cook something.

No sister, not for me at least; my friend Sakha will be waiting for me, Diwakar said.

Why? You’ve come after seven years, she said.

I’m helping Sakha in setting up his bore well; if I reach the village late, it might cause problems for him, Diwakar explained.

Okay, but you have to stay until Rajiv comes, she requested.

Alright then, Diwakar replied.

Dhiraj had been quiet from the moment he left his home. Even though his aunt’s house wasn’t new to him, he felt uncomfortable. He was not sure if his new guardians would treat him well, particularly his uncle, but unwillingly he had to spend the next two years here.

Both of them freshened up and returned.

She went inside the kitchen and started cooking while at the same time peppering them with a flurry of questions.

How are Ashok, Shobha, Leela and Chotu and Minu? she asked from the kitchen.

Everyone is fine, how is Harish? Diwakar asked quickly.

He is also fine; doing well in his engineering.

A few minutes later, she returned with snacks. They gossiped for more than an hour but Rajiv uncle still hadn’t come.

I think it’s getting late now, Diwakar said. "Why has Rajiv bhau not come yet?"

He will come shortly. Why don’t you stay here tonight? she requested.

No, no, I already told you, my friend Sakha will be waiting for me.

Perhaps, Rajiv uncle has intentionally not come and Diwakar uncle might also be thinking the same thing, Dhiraj thought.

Diwakar stayed quiet for a while and then suddenly said, "Nirmala tai, I have to leave now."

She didn’t say a word; perhaps she was thinking the same as Dhiraj. Diwakar stood up and moved forward. Dhiraj was crying from inside. After moving away from family, relatives, neighbours and friends, he was now unwilling to see Diwakar uncle leaving. But he controlled his tears and stood up. Diwakar went out, wore his footwear and moved slowly towards the gate. Aunt and Dhiraj followed him with equally slow steps. It was darker outside. Reaching the gate, Diwakar looked at Dhiraj and smiled. Dhiraj also smiled, with watery eyes.

Diwakar turned to Dhiraj, held his shoulders, stared, and said, If you’ve any problem, speak to Nirmala Auntie without any apprehension. And we will regularly call you; and if you want to talk to your mom or dad or any of us, make a call to that STD booth. Have you taken the number?

Yes… Dhiraj said silently.

Dhiraj wanted to hug him but Diwakar himself hugged Dhiraj. He was still quiet.

Okay sister, bye, tell Rajiv that I waited for him, Diwakar said to Nirmala.

Bye Dhiraj.

Dhiraj was staring at him. He wanted to go back to his village. But what could he do? The only thing he could do was watch Diwakar uncle go. He was standing at the gate with his aunt. She too was aware of what he was feeling. She stayed quiet.

Diwakar had quickly disappeared but Dhiraj was still standing in front of the gate. He now turned his eyes towards the opposite house. That house too was known to him. When he had come here the last time, nearly six-seven years ago, he had frequently visited that house.

The house hadn’t changed much over the years. Two bamboo chairs were placed in the front yard. Plants were artfully arranged, which was visible from a distance. Dhiraj wanted to go inside that house.

That was Sanjay uncle’s house, the most famous painter in the city. He lived with his parents and a sister, earning money by teaching painting in one of the renowned art schools. And by doing so he was also fulfilling his hobby. Dhiraj had always loved his paintings and now he wanted to see them after such a long time.

It’s late, but your Rajiv uncle hasn’t yet come, his aunt said silently. Change your clothes and take some rest.

She closed the gate and they both went inside. Dhiraj was walking behind her, very slowly. They reached the chair where Diwakar had sat. She started to pick up the bags kept next to the chairs.

Suddenly, Dhiraj said, Don’t Auntie, I’ll do that.

But she still picked up the bag and said, Just follow me.

He picked up the second bag and followed her. They reached a room which had previously belonged to aunt’s only son, Harish. The room was painted the same light blue shade. There was one big window, which was closed, on the opposite wall and one bed in the middle, covered with a dark blue bed sheet. Posters with cartoons, landscapes etc, were pasted on every side of the room.

There was one big poster on the opposite wall, near the window, showing a flower at the end of a thorny branch. ‘Face difficulties and win the game’ was written at the bottom of that poster. There was a poster with a cartoon showing a rooster crowing early in the morning, saying ‘How to spend your day in ten different positive ways.’

A study table and a chair were placed at the nearest wall. A table lamp, alarm clock, calendar, paperweight, empty pen stand… were arranged on the table. There was also one door-less cupboard built inside the left wall. It was divided into four compartments. Only the third compartment was packed with a mattress, bed sheets, pillow...and all the others were vacant. Aunt and Dhiraj placed the two bags in the bottom compartment of the cupboard.

Now Harish’s room is yours; that is your bed, and your study table, she said pointing towards each object, and if you’ve any problem just tell me, and she left.

Dhiraj had never thought in his entire life that he would have a room of his own. He was astonished seeing the facilities for him. He had been in this room a few years ago, gossiping with Harish. But he had never thought that one day it would become his own. He’d spent his whole life sleeping on the floor or on a broken cot and studied under the meagre light of a night lamp. But here everything was a contrast. Aunt took care of everything that she could. She’d made his room neat, clean and beautiful and she’d even tried to make friends for him.

He was alone in the room. He went towards the cupboard, opened his bag and took out a few clothes. He also pulled out a small, heavy polythene bag and kept all the stuff on bed. He changed his clothes; wore a half shirt and Bermudas. He took the polythene bag and went to the kitchen. Aunt was busy in the kitchen. He quietly stood near the dining table, behind her.

He raised his hand and said, Auntie, mom gave this for you.

She turned around. Her eyes were tearing. She knew what was in that polythene bag but she still asked, What’s in this?

Mom has sent some sweets for you.

Suddenly a voice came from the front door saying, Auntie.

Who has come at this time? she said keeping the sweets inside one of the boxes.

She went to the living room and Dhiraj sat down on the nearest chair at the dining table.

Rohan! You! Come inside. Her voice came from the living room.

Dhiraj knew who had come.

Auntie, has Dhiraj come? Rohan asked.

Dhiraj heard and felt uncomfortable because Rohan was the same boy about whom he had heard an hour ago, and he wasn’t eager that he’d come to his aunt’s house asking about him.

Dhiraj, come here, she called him from the living room.

Dhiraj stood up heavily and went to the living room. A boy was standing between the front door and a chair. He was fairer than Dhiraj and had broad eyebrows. He frowned slightly.

This is Rohan. I think you recognized him, she said to Dhiraj, pointing at Rohan.

Rohan moved towards Dhiraj and raised his hand. After shaking hands, they sat down. Aunt went to the kitchen again.

Dhiraj you’re looking so different, very different from childhood, Rohan said.

Dhiraj said nothing, just shook his head.

When did you arrive?

Just an hour ago, Dhiraj said meekly.

After aunt, it was Rohan’s turn to shower questions on him. Dhiraj knew that he had to bear this burden of questions for the next few days.

Finally Rohan came to the point – the reason he had come to meet Dhiraj.

We friends, I mean my group of friends that’s also gonna be yours now, plan to go outside tomorrow noon, and you’ve got to come.

To be asked this by from Rohan on the very first day was like a little tremor for Dhiraj. He became more uncomfortable.

NO, Dhiraj replied.

Why?

Actually, I don’t know any of your friends.

That’s why I’m putting this proposal in front of you and I’ve already told my friends that someone named Dhiraj is coming to our school this year.

Dhiraj was unwilling to go. For him, making friends in a jiffy was hard to imagine. He had only two special friends in his village. But ‘facing new people’ would have to happen here one day: either the next day or some other. But he didn’t want to go.

Auntie won’t permit me, Dhiraj said slowly.

Okay, then I’ll ask her. Rohan stood up.

Rohan called aunt.

Rohan is insane, Dhiraj thought.

Aunt came to the living room.

What happened Rohan? she asked curiously.

We friends plan to go out tomorrow and we want Dhiraj to come with us, but he is refusing.

Why? Dhiraj will surely come, she said. I’ll send him, but at what time?

At twelve, noon, Rohan said.

Dhiraj thought she would refuse Rohan’s proposal, because he was new in the city and she was responsible for him.

Dhiraj you must go. If you meet a few friends tomorrow, then there will not be any problem on Monday and you’d already have a few friends in the class, she told Dhiraj very politely.

Dhiraj was convinced and he responded, Okay.

Good, I’m getting late now; I have to discuss tomorrow’s plan with my friends. Bye, Rohan said.

Rohan went outside; Dhiraj followed him with slow steps. They reached the gate and Dhiraj saw Rohan’s cycle parked outside the gate.

But I don’t even have a bicycle, Dhiraj said.

You don’t need to worry about that, said Rohan.

Dhiraj was standing holding the opened gate and Rohan was just about to mount his bicycle when suddenly a voice called Dhiraj’s name aloud. Both of them quickly looked towards the opposite house. There was a man standing at the front door of the house, two-three years older than Diwakar uncle. He was nearly 5’7", wearing a white T-shirt and red night-pants. He was looking at Dhiraj and smiling. He was Sanjay uncle, the painter.

You’re Dhiraj, right? Sanjay uncle asked curiously.

Yes, Dhiraj answered.

When did you come?

He came at five o’clock, Rohan interrupted.

Come here, both of you.

Dhiraj wanted to go there in any case. Now the opportunity had come to him.

Yes, but I have to tell auntie first, Dhiraj told uncle.

Should I leave? Rohan asked Dhiraj.

Don’t go anywhere until I come.

Finally I get the chance to see Sanjay uncle’s paintings, Dhiraj said to himself.

He was a very big fan of Sanjay uncle and he wanted Rohan to see his paintings too. He went inside, told aunt, I’m in Sanjay uncle’s house and returned. Rohan was standing in front of Sanjay uncle’s house, gossiping with him. Dhiraj joined them.

Hello uncle, Dhiraj said in a cheerful voice.

It’s been a long time since I saw you, but I identified you correctly, Sanjay uncle said to Dhiraj.

That is a quality of a true artist, Dhiraj said.

Ha-ha, actually I already knew that you were coming today.

Really? Dhiraj asked, adding, I want to see your new paintings.

Okay, then come inside both of you.

Rohan, are you getting late? Dhiraj asked Rohan.

It’s alright, Rohan said.

Dhiraj was now enthusiastic.

They went inside. A senile couple in their sixties were sitting and talking to each other. They were Sanjay uncle’s parents, who turned out to be much older than Dhiraj had thought. Both were wearing glasses with broad black frames. They were tired as they had just returned from an evening walk. A stick was lying between two chairs, leaning slightly towards Sanjay uncle’s father. There was an old bike below the staircase.

Sanjay uncle pulled Dhiraj towards his parents and said, Dad, look, this is Dhiraj. He used to come here six-seven years ago.

Dhiraj was standing a little ahead of Rohan but still the couple got confused between Rohan and him; they pushed their glasses up the bridge of their noses and stared at Dhiraj.

Second son of Ashok Welekar? Sanjay uncle’s dad said, What are you doing here?

He came here for his studies, Sanjay uncle explained.

It means a problem for Rajiv and Nirmala, his dad said in a trembling voice.

Dhiraj felt bad; Sanjay uncle didn’t like his dad’s words too.

Auntie obstinately called me here to complete my 9th and 10th, else I could have completed my studies in my village too; Dhiraj thought about saying this but he was quiet; he didn’t even change his facial expressions.

Suddenly Sanjay uncle tried to change the subject saying, Hey, why are we standing here? Let’s go to the painting room. Sanjay uncle moved quickly, but Dhiraj’s steps were sluggish.

Before going to the painting room, they reached the living room. The room was big, painted a light pink. The overall look was the same as when Dhiraj saw it the last time except for a big TV which had taken the place of a small black and white one. The furniture was very old and outdated, but could easily be ignored by an art-loving person as the walls were decorated with two masterpieces painted by Sanjay uncle. Dhiraj and Rohan went towards the first painting they saw hanging on the opposite wall.

It was modern art. A face of a young boy in different shades of blue. His nose was long, eyes closed and lips seemed stuck. He had kept the back of his right palm on his left ear.

Dhiraj and Rohan were watching it, completely still. Their mouths were slightly open and their eyes widened.

Wow! What a painting! Rohan exclaimed, Really beautiful.

Those blue shades, closed eyes, long nose, that gentle hand, Dhiraj said. GENIUS IS IGNORING.

Hey Dhiraj, you suggested a good title.

It’s already written at the bottom.

Oh I see!

After a few minutes, Rohan moved to the next painting; first he observed the title ‘FATHER AND SON’ and then continued staring.

It was drawn in a classic style and seemed more beautiful than the first one. The painting depicted rural living. A young boy in white, wearing a white turban was propped against the wall of a hut. His hands were behind, squeezed between the wall and his lower back. His head was tilted down and his right leg was folded up, his foot resting sole on the wall. A similarly dressed with a big rounded moustache was sitting on a wooden chair beside him. The man, father of the young boy, was looking quite upset.

Now Dhiraj moved towards Rohan and started observing the second painting silently.

How beautifully the clothes are drawn! Rohan exclaimed.

Seems real.

Both were meticulously watching the ‘FATHER AND SON’ painting and Sanjay uncle was observing them from a distance.

A few minutes later, Dhiraj turned to Sanjay uncle and said, The décor has changed since I came here the last time but this painting is still here.

Yes, I’ve done many paintings, but this is my favourite, Sanjay uncle said.

Then where are the other ones? Rohan asked curiously.

Few I gifted and some recently drawn paintings are inside my painting room, Sanjay uncle said.

I want to see all of them, Dhiraj said excitedly.

Well then come on in, Sanjay uncle said showing the way to the painting room.

They went to the first room on other side of the house. It was a little apart from the rest of the house. Brushes and papers were strewn on the floor with colour tubes lying on them. Some books lay in a disordered pile in racks. There were two chairs and a big window on the front side. It was open and Dhiraj’s new home was vividly visible through it.

They were looking around when suddenly a lady entered the room. They looked at her. She was young, fair, sharp and beautiful—a perfect model for painting. She was wearing a dark brown saree, which seemed perfect on her curved body.

Should I bring something? the lady asked.

Boys, do you want anything? Sanjay uncle asked Dhiraj and Rohan.

No, said Rohan.

Where is your sister? Dhiraj asked Sanjay uncle.

She is married now and I married Madhushree, Sanjay uncle said.

Are you a painter too? Rohan asked Madhushree.

No! I don’t even know how to hold a brush! she said. I usually give him subjects to draw but he never does.

Okay, one day I’ll draw what you say, Sanjay uncle said to Madhushree.

You’ve said this too many times already, Madhushree said.

Okay, now just bring some tea.

No, no, Dhiraj and Rohan said together.

She left and Dhiraj and Rohan turned to see the paintings which were placed in different corners of the room. Dhiraj moved to one of them.

It depicted the brightest day of summer. A square of very black streets was shining because of the sun’s heat. Beside that square, an electric pole stood alone with many wires passing from it, and there was nothing more except this.

Then Dhiraj moved to next painting.

It was a close-up of a couple who were holding each other’s hands between their lips; their faces leaned slightly towards each other. Their eyes were full of love and they wore smiles on their faces.

There was another painting with a very different subject.

Two bamboos were tightly engraved in the yard at a distance; a rope hung from the tip of the bamboos, and on that rope colourful clothes were hanging, seeming to sway in the breeze.

Dhiraj turned to Sanjay uncle and asked, Uncle, I saw, you used different types of colours and particular papers for those colours, how?

I also wanted to ask the same question. Colours from that modern art painting, ‘GENIUS IS IGNORING’ seem different. Are they really different or you just gave a different effect? Rohan asked, turning towards Sanjay uncle.

There are different types of colours we painters use: pastels, water, poster, acrylic, oil…and we use those particular types of colours on respective papers, Sanjay uncle explained.

Are there different types of papers too? Dhiraj asked.

Yes, papers of different textures like canvas, handmade…

As their questions and answers continued, their sight fell on the farthest corner of the room where a painting was placed on an easel. That painting was facing the window.

Are you working on that painting, right now? Rohan asked, pointing towards it.

Yes, but its colours have not yet dried. Once they do, I’ll complete it else its colours will mix up.

Rohan and Dhiraj went towards the painting.

Two beautiful, fair and traditional girls were dancing; the colours were still incomplete...

What does it mean the paints have not yet dried up? Rohan asked Sanjay uncle.

I have to make small designs of different colours on their clothes to give a traditional look.

Then why didn’t you leave space for them just like you did to draw the jewellery? Rohan asked.

It is not possible to leave a vacant area here for such small designs, so I painted it completely and once all the paint dries up, I’ll make small and colourful designs on their clothes.

Dhiraj moved towards the painting and started observing it.

Why did you paint the body of these dancing girls with a single colour, without giving any shading? Dhiraj asked Sanjay uncle.

For the same reason. It’s better to give shading on dried colours. So that the colours don’t get mixed up and the shading appears better.

What do you do till the paints dry up? Rohan asked a stupid question.

I work on other parts of the painting.

Okay.

Uncle, there’s one more question I want to ask, Dhiraj said, Do you always keep your incomplete drawings here?

Yes, safely in a corner, Sanjay uncle said. But why did you ask this?

So that I can see every step of your painting during its completion, Dhiraj said.

What do you mean? Sanjay uncle asked curiously.

This window is open and since I can clearly see the steps of my house through it, it means that I’ll also be able to see your painting from there, standing on those steps, Dhiraj said.

If you want to see my painting from there I’ll always keep that window open for you, Sanjay uncle said.

The trio chatted. More than an hour had passed since they had come. Evening turned into night.

I have to go now, I’m already late, Rohan said.

Once again they both looked at all the paintings and moved outside. Ignoring Sanjay uncle’s parents, they stopped near the gate. Sanjay uncle followed them.

Okay uncle, we’re leaving now, but I’ll surely come to see that incomplete painting after it gets completed, Dhiraj said.

I will also come, said Rohan.

Sanjay uncle went inside his house and the boys went to where Rohan’s bicycle was parked.

Be ready on time, I’ll come to pick you up, Rohan said.

Okay.

Dhiraj saw Rohan zooming out. Once again, silence entered his lonely world and made him more sluggish. He went inside; his head was down but he saw Rajiv uncle’s bike parked under the staircase. After spending an hour with fervour, he once again became uncomfortable. He had totally forgotten about Rajiv uncle at Sanjay uncle’s house, but now, after seven years, he had to face him. He was nervous and went inside the living room with very slow steps.

Rajiv uncle was sitting on the couch. There were papers scattered on the front table and he was leaning towards it, writing something on the papers. His hair had receded more than the last time Dhiraj had seen him. His belly had also come out and he had started using broad framed spectacles now.

Dhiraj was walking slowly into the living room so as to not make any noise with his feet. Uncle noticed him at the front door. He didn’t say anything but Dhiraj stood there for a few seconds, and when he was ready to leave, uncle questioned him.

So you went to Sanjay’s house?

Yes, he had called me, Dhiraj said, shivering a bit.

Dhiraj kept standing but this time his uncle said nothing and he went to his room. Aunt was busy in the kitchen preparing dinner.

Once again Dhiraj was all alone in his new room. Now he was observing all the posters again, but they couldn’t entertain him. He wanted to go back to his home, but there was a strong reason for him to come here.

In his village, his father had only two acres of land, and just adjoining it were a few acres of land belonging to his school’s Mathematics teacher, Khapre Sir. Khapre Sir was a short tempered man; he always quarrelled with Dhiraj’s father on small issues. Dhiraj’s father used to give in only because of Dhiraj. Because of these feuds, Khapre Sir always got hostile with Dhiraj in school for no reason but Dhiraj tried to defeat him every time by studying as hard as possible and securing the first rank in class. But the next two years were the most important period of Dhiraj’s life and since his father didn’t want to take any chances, he sent Dhiraj to Rajiv uncle’s house to pursue his studies.

Six to seven years ago Dhiraj’s family and Rajiv uncle had a dispute. Dhiraj’s father never wanted to speak to Rajiv uncle, and Rajiv uncle stopped coming to the village after that. The bond between the two families broke. But when Nirmala aunty came to know about Dhiraj’s school problem she’d called him here, hoping that this would restore the bond once again. However, Dhiraj and his family were apprehensive that Rajiv uncle wouldn’t treat him well and this always made him uncomfortable.

Dhiraj was still thinking about the relationship between the two families when suddenly Aunt’s voice brought him back to reality.

Dhiraj! Dinner is ready.

He moved out of the room with silent steps.

Rajiv, you also come for dinner, she said.

I’ve got some work to do, Uncle said from the living room.

Rajiv, why don’t you join Dhiraj for dinner? she asked from the kitchen.

I said I’m busy right now, and I’m not hungry, Uncle replied angrily.

Silence spread in the house for a few seconds. After that she talked to Dhiraj who was standing near the dining table.

"Come on beta, sit down on the chair."

Dhiraj sat down without saying a word.

I know you’re hungry, she said.

Not really.

She treated him with too much politeness. She had made special dishes, especially for him. She served him tasty dinner and simultaneously started to ask questions about his previous school life. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, but still answered.

After finishing dinner he wanted to say— Aunty I’m going for a walk on terrace. But instead he said, Aunty, I’m too tired, I want to sleep now.

Okay, go to your bedroom. You’ll find the pillow and bed sheets in the cupboard, she said, and if you’ve any problem just ask me.

Okay, Dhiraj said and went to his room.

He turned on the lights and closed the door. He glanced at the alarm clock; it was nine o’clock. He closed his eyes for a while and opened them once again. Now his eyes were full of tears, which had started to flow down his face. He wiped the tears off and moved towards the cupboard. He squatted down, took the bag he had kept in the bottom compartment and pulled out an object which was wrapped with a cloth. He then unwrapped it. Two framed family photographs were safely kept inside so that they wouldn’t break or get scratched during the journey. He held them in both of his hands and cried; one of his tears fell on one of the photographs. He quickly wiped it. He then went to his bed holding both the photographs and sat down slowly on the bed. Now he wasn’t controlling his emotions, he was just letting the tears flow.

The photo in his right hand was clicked two years ago. His entire family was there in the photograph: father, mother, younger brother and sister. Everybody was in their best clothes, but the photograph revealed their poverty. His father was half bald, standing on the left holding Dhiraj’s youngest brother by the waist. His mom was standing at the right; her hair was neatly combed and her saree, although cheap, was new. Dhiraj and his young sister were standing in front of their parents.

Now Dhiraj was weeping noiselessly, simultaneously wiping tears. He was missing his family. He kept the first photograph aside and held the second one in hands. A small child of two or three years, wearing tight clothes, was lying prone, looking forward. He was smiling and he had a small toy in his hands. It was a photograph of Dhiraj’s dead elder brother, Shekhar who left the world at very young age. The photograph always evoked memories of his brother but this time it was unbearable. Memories and sorrows kept increasing and Dhiraj reluctantly kept the two photographs in the second compartment of the cupboard and turned off the lights.

The room was dark; he carefully walked towards the bed and lay down on it. He curled up, looking at the cupboard. He was unable to see anything but still thought of the photos kept in the cupboard. No one was there to listen to him; nobody was there to stop him from crying. And he was crying harder and harder…

2. View of the Village

Dhiraj woke up late in the morning. He didn’t want to get up or go back to sleep again. He was just lying supine, keeping his eyes open. The ceiling fan was running at a low speed and he just kept looking at it, enjoying its breeze. His family memories were rushing in again, making him cry. He was trying to control his tears but he couldn’t. He curled up, pulled the blanket over himself, and started crying under it. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

Dhiraj, wake up, Aunty said knocking on the door.

Yes Aunty, he said, quickly wiping his tears off.

"Wake up beta, bathe and have breakfast," she said, standing behind the