WHERE IS THE STORY???

“I know , you are a person with lot of potential” when he said I definitely did not believe in his words. When he asked me to write a Thankyou  Note for our onsite team , I ran to a friend asking for help, because I never knew that there were words and phrases lying deep inside this mind craving to come out. She helped….no….she wrote the whole thing and it was splendid. I took it from her and pretended as if I was the writer. When I got so much appreciation for that note, where no word was mine, I felt…I don’t know the actual word to describe that feel of mind..I felt really bad..

Even after these seven years,I don’t  believe in myself and everytime I finish writing a story or article, I read it again and again and wonder if  I wrote the whole thing

Ella Pugazhum iraivanukke, with these Oscar words and with the “did I write it?” feel of mind , I hereby present you a story….A story of love ..

Pls do read and comment.

 EPISODE-1

I travel by train to office. As a first class passenger, I always wondered at the other overflowing compartments.Being in Chennai, train travel in peak hours that too in normal compartments is the biggest risk one can take.I took that risk for a week.I was pushed and crushed .It was difficult to breathe in that fully packed compartment.I was standing over someone’s feet.I realized it only when the lady screamed and hit me hard on my face. When the train was nearing the station, I was thrown out. I came falling down first, then came my duppatta, then my bag, not immediately after my dupatta; ”My bag… My bag…” I had to scream .Then came my bag flying in the air.

Considering these risk factors, I decided to spend five times more. First class compartments are comparably smaller and it has to accommodate both men and women. But even in the peek hours, we get little space to breathe, little space to rest our foot on the floor and sometimes we even get a seat to sit and dream.

          It was a cloudy morning and luckily I got a window seat .I was looking out through the window. I was not actually looking at the cracky buildings, coovam river, bathing buffaloes, thatched roof houses, or the other small bushes passing by. My eyes were fixed  on a black butterfly  with saffron shedded wings, trying to pace with the speed of the train.When the butterfly could not catch up with me, I time travelled to those beautiful days with my family. But the long cry I heard, distracted me and dragged me back to reality.

          I slightly turned left to see who was crying.The little boy around sixyears, with wet eyes on his mother’s lap caught my attention .There was another boy next to him. He looked little elder to the one on the lap.His brother, I guessed.

The little one with tears was staring at the sales boy, around ten years, wearing light blue shirt little torn near the shoulders, selling stickers .

“I want chota bheem stickers” the kid ranted continuously.His mother held him tight.

“No stickers.” Her voice was stern enough to stop him.

My thoughts sailed around the sales boy.

What was I doing when I was of his age?Going to school was the biggest punishment .Studying was a burden. Playing and fighting with friends was real fun.But look at this kid.He shares his family burden by selling stickers.

Why not help him with money? Why not get one sticker?” my mind murmured.

What am I gonna do with  the chota bheem stickers? Why not get one for the weeping little kid?? Why not wipe his tears? I, then asked myself.

I felt it to be a real brilliant idea.The sales boy will get money and the weeping little one will get stickers.I can make two souls happy all at the same time.

Thinking so, I asked him for a sticker.

He stretched his hand and gave me one.

How much?

“Twenty Rupees akka” he said. I know that it was not worth more than ten rupees. But I did not want to argue with the kid.

I paid twenty and  then stretched my hand to give the sticker to the weeping little boy. was not ready to get it from me.

‘you want these stickers,no? you were shedding your precious tear drops for chota bheem and now chota bheem wants to wipe off your tears. have it ..’I said again waving the sticker in front of his face. He was too stubborn. He stopped crying but was not ready to take the sticker from me.I looked at his mother.

“please give it to him.I actually bought it for him.” I said.

‘no ‘ the lady nodded in the negative.

I tried a grin and told her again, “He was crying for these stickers,no?”

“He cries for everything” she said and turned her face as if I was trying to snatch her son from her.

Mother and son together embarrassed me.I dint know what to do with those stickers.So I opened my handbag and thrusted it inside.

Falling never matters unless someone sees you falling. So I looked around once.Then I was busy looking down. I heard the little boy , crying to his mother again.Though not interested, his words entered my ears.

“Mommy, I don’t like him.Throw him out of train” he repeated pointing  his brother this time.I couldn’t resist myself. I took a kerchief in hand, closed my mouth and coughed out my laughter a bit.

“Your mom is right.You cry for everything boy” I  thought in mind

In that mood of excitement and embarrassment, I looked around again.That is when I saw him for the first time.

A tall young man , with red checked shirt,tapping his fingers on his lap, curling his lips, trying hard to control his laughter.

To be continued..