A Living Paradox

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


A story about a middile class boy with a drastic past and unfullfilled dreams

Submitted: October 22, 2017

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Submitted: October 22, 2017

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A story is an illusion where the paradox plays the role of imposing fantasy while the protagonist is the fiction of reality.But what i am going to tell you isn't a fiction.you can call it a fact,or a thought,or an inspiration but as everyone has secrets so do i, and so have every storyteller in the world who tells a story.

I was six years old when i used to often listen to the muffled sobs of my mother at night lying beside me dipping her face in bedsheet so that it won't get someone wake up.it made me scared sometimes and left me bewildered everytime.

I was Ten.The age when i slowly began to learned about emotions, about fidelity about dignity, when one day i found my mother in the same state.i hadn't seen her like that since past one year.The time was of mid- afternoon, she was sitting over the lintel of our balcony holding a picture of my grandpa and grandma in law in her hand,her eyes filled with tears.They were dead when i was just one year old.My mother had said me since then many times about them that how they used to cuddle me, embraced me, and all the love they had gave me when we went to their house,but for me it was nothing other than a story it never raised a feeling in me , as i hardly remembered them but i never said this to my mother because everytime my mother discussed that topic her voice got sodden, and more tears came out from her drenched eyes.I always tried something or other to defer her from it. I don't know why she never used to discuss such things with father. I also listened her saying "This marriage is wrong" she often used to say that.

At twelve i learned that we belong to a "middle class family", i am a middle class boy. I came to knew it slowly I used to saw each and everyone's of my friend mother used to stand outside school in a group where their topic was to discuss how bad is it life of another one from the group. To show off their prestige before other, to clumsily criticisize and grin to other's childs carrier.My mother was not like them. she always used to stand aside from everyone around a corner waiting for me.she never went to school wearing glistening jewelleries like other.I wondered why!. I slowly realised we were in a dearth submerged so drastically that my father had to sold out his shop to clear my six month school dues.Since then i more often saw my father returning home with a intensity on his face. There was always a paranoia of tension dwelling upon him. He had always used to discuss something with mother on the other room.

At sixteen many things happened in my life.Thus i tried to compress those things as far as i can. The age when my friend enjoying their freedom of independent, when my friend's facebook feed was covering glimpses of their happy life , mine was shattering. Life was wringing the happiness out of me with its coarse hands. I was slurred and snaped upon the harsh walls of reality left with a sore on my soul while life had giggled with a hauntious tone. I often used to get nightmares where i was in a flingious storm seeing my father and mother quarelling. Our economic condition got worst day by day.Now we were on the verge of loosing our house as my father had took a loan on mortgage.Bank issued a notice to us to left the house as soon as possible, but father was still trying to manage things by appointing with manager along with advice from lawyer.That when it happened .Many times i heard mother shouting" sob jolanjoli dia dila"(you destroyed everything)"you sold my jewellery,your father's house,what's more left?..now kill us." somewhere in my heart i thought that father was the worst thing happened to me or might be i had done something wrong in my previous life due to which god has gave me this cursed life. Maybe i was wrong, maybe i got too overwhelmed with my shabby emotions and extortion, as i found him one night standing alone in a dark room.He was crying i can understand that from his fluttering, and muttering something "i am sorry Radha, i am sorry Rajiv" and his grinding increased. Before i could have understood he jumped from the balcony. .....I was standing like a mould my senses got dull, my breathing got stopped,i felt that emptiness and darkness in the room is throttling the life out of me. …

I am nineteen now, i live with my mother in a small one room rented flat.My mother is doing part time jobs in call center and at a tailor shop.she somehow managed to carry on my higher studies.I am in college now, when i have first known what passion is.It is like a new person who had been within you from the begining, depressed under your subconcious self, but you just need to invent it like a scientist with some experiment at some point of your life. I want to be a writer, yes because of not entertaining people with fiction but to tell everyone how hard the reality is, how original stories had their own realism which is far better than a made up story.I miss my father now, because i was wrong about him.It was just through bad reality, and cursed luck he was through which killed him.on his descend i asked my mother whether he did justice to us by leaving us in the bay of burden, my mother didn't said anything that day.Later i saw her standing infront of the balcony from where father had suicided.The place was the irony of my life, once i saw my mother sitting there crying for her parents, Now she was standing there, staring blankly at the loophole of time.That day mother said me, my father was not bad, he never came home drunken, he never tried to came over her, against her. He was perfect man which every marriage girl should have dreamt about.There was some conflicts in their marriage at first but slowly it douse away, slowly they were endeavoring a good start.when life seems to not bless them and it dwells the darkest day over our lives.we got in a bay of burden, it happened like planned conspiracy reeled on one after another, everything was getting abysmal. She ended with tears rolling down her cheeks"if only i hadn't told him like that he would have lived."

I know, i believe he is always watching from somewhere blessing us.It's just i wont be able to catch him again,hold his hand again and say him "it's all right it's.. it's not your fault baba."Alas, like every middile class family person i am also dusted away in the shore of following passion, it will be bad to say we were forced to study hard and secure a good job and not to waste time in those cinematric frictionated "passions".It's just that the society warn us about how hoarse the life is to claim you were borned for, so live with what you have and hold on what you will get to.


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