Revival from the Burial of Poverty

REVIVAL FROM 

THE BURIAL OF POVERTY 

Joy unleashed, companion unearthed, grandeur of life perceived and I am myself in high spirits. I am indeed obliged to find a sole, but true chap in the fullness of time, which is merely a diary that has become dearest to my heart and to which I will be disclosing all my secrets.

Dear diary,

It was no greater rarity to discern the ball of fire blazing and to perceive the sky damp with perspiration and veiled with a haze of gold of light, triggering everyone to huff and puff whilst provoking me to make the most of the sweltering day by lounging on my bunk with a film of sweat. The winds were not amiable; rather they had a dominating accent and endeavoured to subjugate my potentials.

Calmness arrived and embraced me with its decent arms, making me to suppress the urge to whine about the oppressive weather and giving rise to an appetite to write, which was alluring enough. Writing a diary is like a new feat for me to perform. I have scribbled miscellaneous stories, poems, letters; In contrast to all these I have discovered the most trustworthy mate I could ever find- my personal diary. I was tempted to write a diary for it is undoubtedly a wonderful way to contemplate, record our thoughts and to spend some quality alone time every now and then which is tremendously important to stay rejuvenated and unbend.

Doesn’t it sound rude and uncouth to call it solely a diary? Even I loathe people who summon me by calling me just a girl; after all I have a good name.

So, for convenience let it be called dear pinki. Although I am aware that it isn’t the best name I could’ve picked. I chose it as it was the first thing that came to my mind, perhaps because I am on the trail of reading those chacha Chaudhary comics.

By the way Pinki would be musing who dared to write upon her, hence let me introduce myself first.

Aged thirteen, I am a dauntless yet isolated girl (this is why I chose to maintain a diary). My name From ere long, I am living with my parents and an eighteen-year old brother in a shattered hut amid a hustling bustling village in Delhi. It is not kind of a gigantic mansion or colossal bungalow nevertheless it is the basic need of livelihood and I am half sure that my family is contented the way it is currently living.

Even though we are dwelling in a rural area, we are kind of richer than the rest of the mob around us. Still, according to my father’s income we are considered to be part of the poorer sections of our society.

Today, I was flying with joy because I purchased my dear Pinki and chacha Chaudhary series prescribed by my elder sibling. You would be thinking how come I purchased these things if my family lives in penury.

As a matter of fact, let me rise you above the clouds of ignorance. I had invested in the money bestowed to me on my birthdays since childhood. Little did I save and much did it become. That little amount that I congregated every year cajoled me to buy the things I had always yearned and aspired for.

Neither the rich nor we, the poor get to enjoy our money. One is too busy trying to on to it and we are too busy trying to get it. They have ample money to live luxuriously the whole life yet never are satisfied. It is too unfair that I am never able to taste that cookie of richness! So what? Only we know that to be rich, is not what we have in their bank account, but what they have in our heart and accordingly I am richer than them. Am I not?

Yours,

Ridhi

Dear Pinki,

Today was such a casual day that I don’t have any clue what to write. As I was keen to write, I began scribbling anything.

Surely you are unfamiliar with my family’s disposition, therefore let me give you an account of it.

My upright father works in a factory. My brother’s perspective is that he has an intriguing personality, but I don’t think so. I had a prospect that father is unkind, harsh and partial probably because I never saw him from too close. Whatever it was, I never changed my prospect or never endeavoured to gaze closely at him. His eyes are witty and vicious and his visage is more or less formidable. Intimidated by his dreadful beard, I become uncomfortable with him and words don’t flow as smoothly as they flow whilst chattering with others. The words I speak stutter. From his point of view I have an impassive and fierce stare and he thinks that I resemble an owl. To me, he is a figure to be frightened precisely because he had grown a wild beard on his face. I feel that description is enough for him.

To describe my intimate mother, I don’t know from where to start. I love her very much. Of course I don’t go kissing and hugging her every minute.

However my heart has always given her a greater space than any other creature living. On contrary to father’s inevitable tendency, she is placid and tranquil which makes her irresistibly sweet. I have also written a beautiful poem for her-

She is a shadow of my success,

And the biggest source of my happiness.

She is like a booster, when all my hopes are dying,

She is like an aid, when my heart is crying.

She is like an architect, who drafts a big house of dreams,

Later she becomes a mason, who constructs the house, it seems.

She is like a gardener, who sprinkles water on the blooming flower,

She is like a ray of hope- a shining ray,

Who gives light to inspire me to live a beautiful day.

She is like an ATM, to which I go when the cash gets less,

And she allows me to withdraw the cash of happiness.

She scolds me, when on my shirt, there is a speck of dirt,

But warmly embraces me when I get hurt.

She doesn’t need any make-up because only a smile is her grace,

And she’s so sweet that she doesn’t allow tears to fall on my face.

I feel, she is the only person who knows to truly love and care,

Selfless she is; every pain for her latter she would bear.

She’s so kind and caring,

She is like an angel sent from heaven.

God couldn’t be present everywhere so He made mother,

Who doesn’t find reasons to love, yet she does.

Before you came in my life, dear Pinki, my mother was the sole person to whom I confided in my secrets; it was never my brother. I was somewhat envious of him due to the special care father took and the special attention and consideration he was given. Don’t take me wrong. I am not jealous from each and everyone. It’s just the feeling you have between two siblings. Every brother or sister someday or the other, in my opinion, feels that his/ her calls are not heeded.

Nonetheless, I am thankful to him for being a great help. Graduating from a government school makes him the only literate person in our family (others are ignorant). What he learnt in those years he teaches me and that is why I am able to express my deep feelings so well.

Dear Pinki, you would surely pity me if I tell you that I am not allowed to go to school, wouldn’t you? Whenever I discuss this topic with father, he turns deaf ears to my pleas and requests. When pressured, he retorts that it is a waste of money and reminds me of the rumour that a girl becomes a widow if she acquires knowledge. In this matter, I don’t like mother either for she zips her lips and doesn’t protest against father.

I believe, that knowledge is crucial in everyone’s life and that it should be mandatory for all. Knowledge is the greatest possession of man. It neither can be bought nor sold; it is the treasure of a wise man; it is the key to success and the greater it increases, the more the ignorance unfolds. So,

The prime obstacle is that I am not enlightened as yet. What if I am a girl? I didn’t get to opt for my gender- that was His will. When they can send brother to a school then why don’t I have the right to education. After all, I am the second child of my parents and they should treat me equally as well. Why should they be biased against me? Don’t I have the right to live as blissfully as my brother. Surely I have, but no one here values my capabilities and strength. It is too unfair and only you can understand my tender feelings, dear Pinki.

Truly yours,

Ridhi

Dear Pinki,

Nothing has been alright since the past four days. Tension and anxiety are reigning the premises.

Lately, on June 3, my mother was grumbling and moaning of weight loss, chest pain and wheezing. Father consoled her saying that it would be fine by the following day. However, the situation didn’t turn up as good as we had envisioned. It exacerbated and worsened.

The next gloomy morning, at about 5, she began coughing (not the ordinary cough, she was coughing with blood).

My brother immediately took out father’s shoddy bicycle which had a heedless plight and with mother sitting uncomfortably at the back, he hastily pedalled to the one and only hospital in the village. Father also sprinted behind, leaving me alone in that isolated hut where I was compelled to stay.

I had always cheered my mother when she was feeling low by singing cheery songs for I love to sing. This time I felt hopeless, demoralised, disconsolate and downhearted. A feeling of dumb despair enveloped the eerie atmosphere. My mother was writhing in agony and I couldn’t do anything rather that to pray to the almighty for her fast recovery.

My ears didn’t get to hear any satisfactory news from father when he returned after some time. “Your mother has lung cancer and the doctor said that she’ll not be able to live more than one year.” He said in a grieving tone. For a split of a second, everything seemed like the worst nightmare, only it wasn’t. Those disheartening words that father spoke made me feel despondent.

Soon after, brother and mother returned. She was looking as paler as ever when she stepped on the threshold. I hurried towards her and desperately flung myself into her arms. The mere thought of her going away from me forever caused me to burst into bitter tears. In her heart a cry was triggered too. I could see that inside her bosom her heart was much cast down. Her terrible plight was reflected through her rheumy eyes.

When my grandfather died after a prolong illness, I was unaware of what death actually meant; now I am mature enough to know the meaning of death. Death is the opposite of life, but a part of it. It leaves a heartache that no one can heal. Moreover, I dislike father and brother but that does not imply that I want them to perish.

From today, my belief on God broke. The implicit trust I had upon Him has faded. God knows how much I cherish her. I really love her from the bottom of my heart and she is everything to me beyond a doubt. God knows that I cannot think of living without that angel, then also he proved to be tyrant and cruel. Pardon me if I am using abominable words for Him. Had you been in my place, you would have done the same.

Yours faithfully,

Ridhi