3 The Height of a Love...

What could be the height of a love? What could be the extremes of longing, craving and yearning desire? This particular post throw some light. However, I am not sure whether my emotions are getting translated into words.

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 It was first Saturday of the month, again. It was a half day, today so a nine years old boy had already returned from his school. Steam engine of the train had blown its whistle to synchronize the mental clock of the boy from a distance of two kilometres. Whistle of the train also triggered a sequence of events. Yes, the steam engine was giving indication that it would reach “Saraigarh” the nearest railway station in another ten minutes. The boy started counting another 90 minutes from his mental clock. (Wall clock was still a luxury before economic liberalization). This much time was required for walking and taking a boat ride for reaching home from this railway station. The boy was actually waiting for someone.

The mental clock of the boy indicated him that it was just half an hour now. The boy positioned a wooden chair at his "dalaan" and started looking endlessly towards pagdandi (a grass laden elevated pathway through middle of the agricultural field, on which only one person can walk at a time). 

While he would be sitting in isolation, many people would enquire with him that why he was sitting alone. The boy would either ignore or would divert the question. With every passing second his restlessness would increase to next level. It would not take more than 90 minutes to pass. There would be two possible outcomes, now:

Firstly, there would be no outcome and his restlessness would not bring any result, not even a disappointment. Rather he would start waiting for next train which would come probably two hours later. While he would be involved in his daily chores, his radar would be meticulously switched on to receive signal from the whistle of steam engine of next train. Again, the same restless waiting for 90 minutes. Probably, it would bring the same results and nothing would happen. 

Or secondly, during the last phase of any of those 90 minutes, the boy would see a man in his mid thirties walking through the "pagdandi" towards his "dalaan" with a suitcase in his one hand and a big duffle in his another hand. 

The boy would be elated and would run towards him at his maximum speed. In a moment the boy would meet this man. The man would also be elated to see him. He would keep his luggage aside and uncounted numbers of hugs and kisses would be exchanged. Both of them would then walk towards the home. The boy would walk fast and then would stop occasionally to sync with the pace of the man. Upon reaching home, the mother of the boy would ask him the same question again, “I know why you have been waiting at "dalaan”. The boy would gracefully lie that he was actually longing for the arrival of his father. He would pose as if it was merely an incidental meet, co-incident indeed. 

Yes, the man in this story was my father and I was the “the boy”. The first Saturday of the month, whistle of the train, restlessness of the waiting, elation of meeting and finally uncounted numbers of hugs and kisses packaged together were probably the best memory of my father that was happening every month (in late 80's) when he was coming to our native place from Gorakhpur.

2 An Inspirational Story: The story of my father (Part-3, Last and Final)

Dear Reader, This story has been written as a coherent narrative of three episodes. Unless you read first two parts the context would be lost. Therefore please read part-1 and part-2 before reading it.

This is not my story. There is no point of giving my details merely on emotional account. However, there is one incident I would like to mention which is unique. There was a time when my father was disappointed with my academic performance. He was upset that I could not qualify for IIT/engineering. He was even more disappointed for my interest in literature. I am still struggling with my English. At that time, literature means “Hindi” only. Hence, he thought my interest in literature would not be able to give me even a lower middle-class life. I was adamant. Engineering was seemingly appearing not my cup of tea. I was annoyed, how come my father impose his ambition on me. I thought I have a good mathematics I could qualify bank PO job so let me pursue BSc and subsequently I will pursue my interest in literature. My father stopped giving me any further explanation. He was settled his thought with the fact this his hard work of last ten years had gone waste. Initially he stopped talking to me. However, after a while he resumed his talking to me, occasionally. However, I could not see any enthusiasm in him. My brothers were in school. He started devoting more time on them. Everyone in the family accepted my failure, gracefully. His life was back on its course, in its different form and started moving slowly.

Literature and Engineering went hand in hand, finally: In the beginning, the silence of my father was appearing a logical win for me. However, very soon the same silence started bothering me. It was most obvious that I lost a friend in him. Then there came a time, when I started realizing that I did not put my 100%. Failure for once can never be a failure for always. As a son, I committed biggest mistake. I should have live for his dream. I could have pursued my interest separately on different occasion of life. With time, I started justifying my decision wrong. However, I had already completed my first year of BSc, by then. I started going to college regularly. I started feeling that I need emotional support of my father, very badly. His silence became unbearable to me. His silence was making me lonely. Deep inside my mind, I was feeling guilty. I promised to myself that I will try another attempt, honestly. With few months of hard work on chemistry I started having confidence on it. I wrote two types of exams in May 1996. I wrote B.Sc 2nd year and entrance examination of MNREC and IIT. Somehow, I qualified all three exams. My rank in IIT was 3228. They were calling it as an extended merit list. The certificate of extended merit list did not give me any tangible outcome. BSc turned out to be a waste. Finally, I got admission in Engineering. However, the extended merit list certificate which my father got it in person from IIT Kanpur remained his prized possession till end. I discovered it, while I was in Gorakhpur in last month for his funeral. My mother told me he was still displaying it to his relatives, friends and colleagues.

After my admission in Engineering, my father realized that I was doing something which was not of my interest. He realized that I was doing it for him. He wanted to compensate me. After a while I was settled in B.Tech course, and when I came for vacation first time, my father gifted me most precious gift of my life. He gifted me membership of Gorakhpur Central Library (of Railways) that allowed me to borrow four books at a time. This library is very rich in literary books. It has a good collection of Maithili books also. It was the first time when I read Maithili books first. Interestingly I read “Khattar Kaka’k Tarang” there itself. Every time I came on vacation, I used to carry four books with me to my college. I read Premchand, Chatursen, Renu, Yatri, Hajari Prasad Dwedy, translation of Sharat Chandra etc. My room partner was induced with my passion. Initially most often when he was occupied with his mechanical engineering I was occupied with Sharat Chandra. Soon we were sharing the same literary books.

I could not fulfil his wish: This membership of library changed me like anything. My intellectual appetite for literature was fulfilled aptly. Though, I could not fulfill his dream but he ensured my dream is fulfilled. Membership of library is still vouching it loudly. So far, I have published two books (fiction). I am in mid of my third book (novel). I was staying in UP. Had he not given me this membership of library, I would not have come across the world of Maithili literature and my reaction (as my own creation) would not have come this far. A couple of months back during our morning telephonic discussion, I told him that how passionate I am for the book that I am writing currently. He asked me several times about what I was writing on. I kept telling him, “papa you will be the first to review this book”. He was so much curious to know the subject, but except for the fact that I was writing novel, I could not reveal anything else to him. Now I am feeling it was an emotional blunder, the loss that I would never be able to recover.

This blunder was not alone. I have missed so many other opportunities. I had planned so many things for him. They remained unfulfilled. I was never ever able to imagine that he would leave me so early with all my ambition unfulfilled. It was in September 2010, someone hosted me on a cup of coffee in Le Meridian, Delhi where one cup of coffee was Rs 1100/. I always used to share with him most exciting things of my life. I also shared with him the news of coffee amounting to Rs 1100. He was not ready to believe, but then he said, “There must be expensive saffron in coffee. Otherwise why it should be so expensive”.
 I said, “This is how things are in five star.”
He told me, “Once I would like to experience it”.
Today, when I am writing this memoire, I am feeling that I am most unfortunate guy under the sun, because I kept planning that I will sponsor a 5 start vacation for my parents but I could not do it.

There is another incident worth sharing where I failed to fulfill his wish. Since 1982 till 2012 (till his retirement) he kept reading “The Hindu”. He was specially waiting for every Thursday when he would read columns of “Mr. Premshankar Jha” who has been one of the pioneers in his field and widely respected around the globe. My father used to admire him so much that he wanted to meet him in person. During my last visit to Delhi, I expressed his wish to my close friend Mr. Atul who is himself a columnist (use to write for Pioneer, Hindu etc himself). Atul said, “it is not a big deal. It can be arranged easily”. When I returned back, I told the news to my father. He was so much excited that he would meet his role model. Alas, I could not fulfil. I am feeling so helpless, now. God, if at all it exists, had a different plan.

Let me be vocal:  My father had unique attributes. He never beat me in my life even for an example like other parents do to their preteen or teenager child. Though, very rarely I was able to make him happy. His love for books has been unmatchable. I remember, in year 1994 I was with him in Delhi. My mother gave him a considerable amount from her savings for buying something for her. He could not find those things in Delhi, instead of returning that money he bought books, including “A Suitable Boy”. Upon his retirement in 2012, he did two things (1) He started doing kitchen garden in 4000 sqft of his vacant land that he possessed adjacent to the house and he was making sure a part of the kitchen requirements come from it, and (2) purchased around 25 books from Geeta Press, mostly unusual one (like Vishnu Puran, Chhandogyopanishad etc). Now this is my prized possession, inherited naturally. Last week my wife observed that he had already underlined a part of the book. I asked him last year, what you would do with these books. Since all of these books are big in sizes, I was suspecting whether he will be able to actually read all of them. He told me, “You know all of my ancestors were great Sanskrit Scholar. I have broken the tradition. This is a way I could tender my apology to my ancestor. Instead of sitting idle and counting my days, I will read them”. I asked him, “What is your ambition now”.
He said, “Somewhere in my unconscious mind, I have a plan to host a Sanskrit College, again. This is the only way I could reclaim the glory of my ancestor”.
I asked him, “Are you really sure. Do you know how much money you will require?”.

He replied, “If India can dare to reclaim its glory, by becoming a superpower why cannot I dream like this. Who can stop me dreaming something”.
Yes, it was a dream. But size of the dream demonstrates the size of the ambition of the person. Everyone cannot dream. From the affluent family of a baron to the acute poverty, from the potential owner of a cavalry to the point of melancholy of its extreme, from the family who hosted a Sanskrit College to a poor child queuing up to collect food grains in relief camp to a respectable life having double MA, MBA and LLB everything seems to be a fairytale. As my friend (Vishal Verma) rightly said in the comment of the first part, that he was not reading story of my father, rather it was appearing a story of mansarover to him. Yes, everything appears a fairytale the most unrealistic one, rarely found in middle-class family. In the history of civilization 74 years (1940-2014) is a very small time span. However story of my father encompasses everything in it.

He was proud of his ancestor and kept mentioning their deeds. Till date he was remembering the name of district collector of Bhagalpur who was responsible for the fall of landlord-ship. The name of the peon who brought the final legal notice he remembered and mentioned to all of us. He used to tell me about this peon whose name was "Gadla Mandal". He used to tell me that Gadla was a "maghaiya dhanuk" means he was originated from Magadh! (A traditional maithil would consider Magadh, as an inferior place. There is a history attached we would discuss on some other point). I am feeling sorry that I don't remember the name of the English district collector of Bhagalpur.    

Dream and Fairytale: Everything appears like a dream, now. But they are true. While writing this story, even I did not try taking creative freedom of an author. How could I take this freedom? I was able to see his dead body only after 18 hours of his death. When I arrived in Varanasi, my mother still had her last hope with me. She asked me, you take him to good hospital he will wake up. He cannot leave me like this, after living with me for 42 years. My mother was shaking me vigorously. How difficult it was for me convincing her that he will never returned back now. Even today it is very difficult to believe that I was the one who was carrying his body on my shoulder, I was leading his Shav Yatra and I experience his body converting into in ashes at Mankarnika Ghat. Family Pandit has rightly said, “The death is the only truth of life, everything else could be easily managed.” I need to move on. Yet 61 was NOT the right time. Life looks empty and void. I lost an emotional punching bag on which I was always hitting with my weakness, with my doubts, with my fear and with my problems to get in return the strength, the wisdom, the clarity and the solution of life.

Note: My father died peacefully and happily. Never ever in his life he made a demand from anyone. Rather, he kept giving whatever and whenever he could. I remember in year 1998 he took loan from his office to help one of his relative who was in financial crisis. He had seen all ups and downs of life, yet he defeated the trouble, itself. More trouble life had given to him stronger he emerged, always. Against all possible odds, he instilled the wisdom of life in his children to an extent that an admirer of literature is a successful technologist*, a college dropout is a successful entrepreneur** and a technologist is a real technologist***).

(*You know me! **My youngest brother a college dropout is implementing currently largest surveillance system of the town, single-handedly, where thousands of cameras around the nooks and corners of the town are networked together on Ethernet (how many engineer can do it, I know. He is doing it  for the police headquarter and a part of it had already gone live. **My brother younger to me is a senior architect in Siemens Energy System. All of us are enjoying the fruit of his hard work. In one of such examples, my younger brother purchased a house in Bangalore worth more than Rs. 1.2 crore. Is not it vouching the outcome of the honest hard work of my father?).

2 An Inspirational Story: The story of my father

It is 08:35AM in my watch and I missed it again by 5 minutes, the deadline to start for my office. I am starting my Car, putting my seat belt on, and I am allowing turbo effect of engine to come with full force so that it could pull me from my basement parking. I am on the road now. I switched on the Bluetooth and redialled a phone number from the previously dialled list. An ever energetic voice appears from the other end. He asks well-being of my son, my wife and my office. If there is any news from my village he narrates it minutely. Then we switch on to the topics of national politics, international politics, philosophy, mythology or the book that I am reading currently. We keep talking. He is satisfied that I bought a car in which this facility is inbuilt. It is 9:05AM. He says, “Now you must be reaching your office so let us hang up”. From the modulation of my voice he is sensing the traffic condition from 2000 miles that whether there was a jam or it was smooth today to judge whether I am about to reach my office or we can talk for some more time. Finally call gets disconnected to be connected again next morning or until we really need to talk. Every morning this was my routine. These were not merely the discussions; my father has been pumping energy in the morning that used to keep me rejuvenated for the day. However, on unfortunate day of 11th June 2014, I had so many urgent things to do. I postpone the daily telephonic discussion for the evening. When I called back that evening instead of my father my brother picked the call and he informed me that he was no more, he died few minutes back. How could I afford not to talk to him on that day? Generally upon NOT getting a call he used to call me. He did not call me on that day, either. He had already booked his final journey leaving me shattered, meek and incapable. More I try to become normal more powerless I find myself. I already started going to office. It’s unbearable for me when I start my car and habitually put my Bluetooth on and finally realizing that I cannot talk to him anymore. At his relatively good health and at the age of 61-62 it was NOT a right time. As someone suggested his good memory would guide me throughout my life. His life has itself an inspirational story to learn important lessons. Let us have a look.

My father’s life story can motivate any person in distress. Everyone’s father is unique, there is no doubt. But he was unique out of several uniques. I would like to write about him without assigning any adjective to him, yet I am sure those who read this story would have a remarkable positive influence on him. I am writing his story (in short) without using any adjective, does this not vouch many things in itself? If you find it motivational do write to me. It will help me regain some of the energy which would be necessary to move on.

Part-I

Late Shri Mohan Mishra (1952-2014): Story of my father is nothing less than a story of modern India which encompasses a glorious past, brave survivals through austerity of its extreme, progressing slowing but steadily and now roaring to become superpower to regain its glorious past. Let me start the story since 1940’s prior to the birth of my father when my grandmother was just married. The grandfather of my father (my great grandfather) was a baron and had a close relationship with the King of Darbhanga (mithila). Therefore, my grandmother came from a very affluent family of Darbhanga. My great grandfather inherited 700 acres of highly fertile land. He was possessing 7 elephants (presently cost of one elephant is equivalent to a Mercedes S class). He was sponsoring a traditional residential Sanskrit college where students used to get education free of cost till post graduation courses. As my great grandfather and so his sons were highly influenced by Mahatma Gandhi. They started taking part in freedom struggles.

A landlord-ship and freedom struggle did not go hand in hand. The king of Darbhanga (Mithila) was very upset of their participations in freedom movement. Though quit India movement was at its peak, however English collector (of Bhagalpur) thought to teach my great grandfather a lesson. They sent so many legal notices to him for creating unrest in the society. He did not respond to all legal notices and there came a day when collector manipulated and got the legal rights to attach all his property.

A prosperous landlord became wealthless. My grandfather had three more brothers. Two of them were highly involved in Quit India Movement starting from 1942. When they saw their entire property vanished, they fled away together from home. Subsequently, one of them get into the team of Lal Bahadur Shashtry and were jailed together. Association with Lal Bahadur Shastry brought him again in prominence and when he became priminister of India, one of the brother of my grandfather, Mr. Ramakant Shastry became Mayor of Agra.

Back home, my grandparents found themselves nowhere. They still wanted to run their inherited Sanskrit college. But alas, they didn’t have any means to do this. In spite of this life crisis my grandfather decided that he would stay in my village. My great grandfather at that time possessed a man-made fish pond/lake spread in the area of 5 acres. My grandmother sold all her ornaments which her affluent parents gifted her in marriage. Thus my grandparents purchased this fish pond of 5 acres. As of today (07th July 2014) I (Kumar Padmanabh) inherit this fish pond as an agricultural land. My grandmother was left with nothing except this piece of land. She became mother of 4 children but none of them survived owing to lack of healthcare system and hence huge infant mortality rate in India. My grandparents were however settled and running their non-luxurious life with 5 acres of land. Then in 1952 my father was born. India was improving and healthcare was now available a little bit. There was a health center 35 KM away. My grandparents took extra care and my father survived. My grandfather also inherited family tradition of becoming Sanskrit Scholar. He was an expert of Mimansa, a sect of philosophy that deals with rituals. Life of my grandparents were coming steadily, however in 1954 there came a day when my grandfather died leaving behind my 40 years old grandmother and my 2 years old father alone at the mercy of the God.

It was an inconsolable moment for my grandmother. Her estate had vanished, her husband died leaving behind her two years old son. Brothers of my grandfather were already left village. There were no mode of communication and they thought there is nothing left in the village. My grandmother had a lots of self respect and she decided she will not go to her parent's place demanding her share of property which would have sufficient to live a luxurious life. She had no other option but to live for her son, i.e. my father. Therefore the real struggle for survival started in 1954. It was a time when river Kosi was at its peak. Even today it is known as sorrow of Bihar. It was always changing its course, devastating agricultural land of northern Bihar. Jawahar Lal Nehru, then priminister of India decided to tame this river by restricting it to flow through two embankments. My village came in between the two embankments. Mr. Nehru promised rehabilitation of almost 100 villages falling between the two embankments. That promise is not yet honoured. So now the Kosi flood was restricted within these two embankments. Other portion of Bihar was benefited but my village started remaining submerged in flood for 3 months to 6 months every year during monsoon.

By 1960 construction of embankment was over and therefore my village started getting flooded every year. Agriculture was completely devastated. Mr. Nehru started distributing food grains as a relief. As an 8 years old child, my father would go to the relief camp to get food grains every month. At that time he was going to a government primary school to get his education. Since, in this school, the education was provided only till grade- 5th. After few years my grandmother realized that my father needs to go to nearby town for his middle school education. It was 35 KM away from my village. As an 11 years old child, my father started living in hostel. Hostel and mess fee was almost 20 rupees a month. This was a huge amount in early 60s. Since the agricultural land was almost used to be submerged in flood only means of survival was relief. Arranging Rs. 20 a month was a challenge. My grandmother decided to have an entrepreneurship stint. Mahatma Gandhi organization was teaching making of Khadi. So my grandmother started churning charkha given by that organization. Very soon, she started earning good amount to afford fee of my father.

Instantaneous financial problem of my father was solved by initiatives of Mahatma Gandhi organization. However, my father was worried. As a 12 years old child every year during the rainy season, he would come to my village to look after his mother. He would remain in village leaving his study to take care of his mother. He used to be with his mother until flood water used to subside. He told me that many years, even house was getting flooded. He was making “machaan” and for several weeks both of them were staying on the “machaan”.

Time passed and there came a day, when my father was graduated. He passed his exam. He told me once that during those days result was getting announced in newspaper and after seeing that he passed his 10th grade, thereby became eligible for applying government job, he ran from his school (in Kishanpur) to his village which was 35KM away. He ran for 35 KM continuously. My grandmother was so happy. He was not yet 18 so not eligible from age point of view to apply for government job. Therefore he decided to pursue his study further. In the meantime river Koshi was tamed further and 5 acres land of my grandmother was started giving her more crops that they could consume, hence they started saving. Moreover, the entrepreneurship stint of my grandmother was at its peak and she was earning substantially. While my father was in 2nd year of Intermediate University Course (12th) he married to my mom. My father was 20 years old and my mother was 15 years old. My father told me, he was a unique example of his village who did not take any dowry in his marriage.

In year 1973 he finished his intermediate examination at the age of 21 years. Then he started looking for a government job. One of his relative was an IAS officer in Kolkata. He helped many people of my village to get a job. My great grandfather had lots of obligation to his family. Hence my grandmother suggested my father to go there to seek his help in getting a job. In 1974 he was camping in Kolkata for many months. This IAS officer was very much fed up with this kind of requests and therefore he was NOT in the mood of helping my father. However he suggested him to develop some skill. (Son of this particular IAS is now CFO of Hathway in Bangalore. He very well remembers my father. When I was in IIT Kharagpur, I introduced myself to him through a community portal. He was astonished, how could I go to IIT).

My father returned back home in 1975 without a job. Government Job was not easy. Either it was coming through recommendation/influence or through extreme hard work. He sold the ornaments of my mother to get some seed fund and started learning typing and shorthand. After few months he became so much proficient in these two skills that owner of the institute recruited my father as an instructor. In the meantime he started preparing for banks and railways recruitment. I was born in year 1976. He was economically satisfied. Therefore he participated in 1975 Jai Prakash Narayan Movement. The effect on his phyche was so much that he removed my surname from my official papers. Because he believed your surname represents your cast. Even though coming from a highly reputed Brahmin family he did not want to take advantage of that. Subsequently, he started applying for the government job. It was in 1977 that he was selected for many positions in Indian Railways and SBI. He preferred Indian railways and joined as a  a personal assistant to chief engineer in Gorakhpur on 30th October 1978.

During the period of distress and when river Kosi was tamed properly, some of the village people were envious of 5 acres of land that my grandmother purchased and which was giving good crops. With some false documentation they registered a part of the land in their name. Both my father and grandmother were very worried because my grandmother purchased those lands after selling her ornaments. My father fought legal battle for 5 years and then he got his land returned in year 1983.

After his job in Indian Railways in Gorakhpur he was getting railway quarter in Gorakhpur. My grandmother was not willing to relocate. She wanted to die in the territory where she struggled for her survival. My father respected her opinion and decided not to relocate until her last breath. We were getting agricultural produces and my father was getting his monthly salary cheque. Everything was looking so bright and beautiful. But all of sudden my grandmother died on 17th September 1984. As an 8 years old boy, I saw my father crying like a kid. My father struggled for his survival, for his education and for his career along with his mother. His world was restricted to his mother. All of sudden his mother left him. He wanted that she should see the world. By that time I was going to my school. I was doing very well in school. My father was so happy. For his mother’s love, for the reason that I was doing good with my study, my younger brothers were still very young and with all his ecosystem in place he decided that he will not move his family until few years more.

 (To be continued… He was just 12th class pass. How he got MBA. How fortunate am I that both of us went to the same university, in the same year, many a time on the same day for our respective studies. I will talk about the last book he gifted me. And why he was so happy during Obama's last visits of India. Please read on…)

Second part is here.

You can share if you want. Your words would help me to move on. Please comment…!            

0 On sparrows in my life

This content is published at yourstory.com

My grandmother died in 1984 when I was 8 years old. She told me once, “If you miss a dinner, a flesh of the size of a sparrow will disappear from your body”. Ours was a big family and she was actually ensuring that I should not sleep without taking dinner in case it is late. On another occasion she told me, “Look! once upon a time, all sparrows were very naughty and therefore the God punished all of them by tying their legs with invisible strings. This is why a sparrow cannot walk. Now they can reach a place only by hopping and jumping.” This was an ultimatum to me to avoid getting too naughty.

Ever since I come across the recent campaign against the diminishing count of sparrows from our neighborhood, I felt, I was lucky enough to see my sense growing with the memories of this bird. Sparrows were ensconced into the life, in the folklores and in the innocence of a child in me to such an extent that removing the collective memories of these birds would score out significant part of my childhood itself. Here is an incident vouching it loudly:

It was probably 1983 when I was 7 years old: as old as my son now. I remember, I was more intimate to my grandmother than my mother, for she was always ready to tolerate my all kinds of nonsense. In my neighborhood there lived a girl probably one year senior to me. She was my buddy, my playmate, my partner and my ex-officio Guru for being one year senior to me.

She used to tell me different real life stories. After witnessing the way a sparrow commute, we used to debate on the unjustness of the God for tying the legs of this little bird with so called invisible string. A kind of philosophy was taking a shape into our mind challenging the verdict of the God. Our ignorance was highly creative and resourceful to revolt against the unjustness of the God. We used to observe the sparrows continuously, for many hours, in isolation and discuss about how cruel a God could turn out to be. Sometime she used to stop me discussing the unjustness of God scaring me that God must be listening it.

However, nothing could stop us seeing the activities of sparrows. We were observing what seniors were ignoring. We used to observe their otherwise aptly designed aerodynamic body, the way they were eating, the kinds of food they were collecting, the challenges their young ones were facing, the way they behave within their folks, in their community, and their sweet voices. Everything was getting recorded into our fertile minds.

Dalaan in our native place was used to be a place for conducting all kinds of male related activities let alone be the routine hosting of political and religious debate. Mostly a Dalaan ought not to have a door in it, psychologically signifying that doors of a Dalaan was always open for a guest: one of many reasons why I feel proud of my culture.

We were on our routine spree of watching this bird playing around us. Then there came a day when we saw one of them bringing a piece of a straw into my Dalaan where the canopy of it was joining to the external nook of the wall. My buddy screamed, “Look! Now sparrow will build their nest into your house”. I observed there was another sparrow doing the same. Both of them were picking straws, long and narrow piece of leaves of the trees (typically of sugarcane leaves). Both of them were working hard. She told me that they were actually wife and husband birds building their own home to lay eggs to have their own family. I was excited and highly hopeful to see the adobe of this tiny birds getting constructed and their family taking a proper shape. My buddy forbade me to give more attention lest those little birds would take it as a sign of danger to abandon that place.

We were secretly observing two sparrows working so hard. Finally the nest took a final shape. Generally birds were not there in day time. However each evening they used to return back. Upon their return to their nest they were making lots of noises. Sometime other sparrows were also hovering around until the darkness. Just before the sunset and few minutes later on sparrows were chirping aloud. Sometime it was annoying to the other members of my family. However, the moment the darkness used to settle down in our neighborhood and before we used to lit our Dalaan, they were assuming a comforting silence until the break of the next day. There were observable difference between the noises they were making in the evening and the same in the morning. While there were competition, quarrel and other chaos in the evening, the morning noises of the sparrows were filled with enthusiasm, songs of invitation and a gust of life. In simple words we did not like the noises in the evening; however, mornings chirping were rejuvenating us in a big way. A curious mind of our childhood was noticing this difference gracefully.

In a day time these two birds were not traceable. Sometime we used to find them picking paddy seeds in our courtyard and occasionally we were finding them playing in dust. We were saying that they were taking bath with dust since they were spreading dust with their wings like water droplets. Sometime they also used to enjoy in leftover water stagnated near my hand pump. However, there were no particular routine followed by them therefore very hard to trace them.

It was the time when keeping an account of the daily activities of the sparrows was order of the day. While the life was prospering inside the nest we more excited to see the real outcome. Our first expectation was to see the eggs coming out. We were extra hopeful for the subsequent incidents i.e. the evolution of chicks. A kind of possessiveness was also ruling our mind to ensure that no one else should come to know about the future family of these birds.

We were not bothered about the elders. It was the other kids in our neighborhood bothering us in a big way. Finally, a day came when we observed that only one of the birds was coming out of the nest. Initially, I thought both of them have a fight and first bird abandoned the nest. However my partner was more experienced. She speculated that the birds already laid eggs. She brought wooden chair, climbed on it and then by the help of side pillars she peeped into the nest. I could hear the vigorous fluttering of the wings in surprise. The sparrow in nest flew away. She screamed! Look! birds have laid so many eggs.

I was curious. She came down and helped me to climb on the chair and encouraged me to stand on it to hold the pillars with my cross folded legs tightly and climb few more steps upward. Finally, I was able to peep into the nest. There were three eggs. They were greenish blue of the color that of a swimming pool. It was bright and glossy. I was astonished and elated. This was the first time I was seeing eggs of a sparrow. The mother sparrow was hovering around us. My partner screamed that the bird is afraid of losing its eggs. She strictly prohibited me to touch them and instructed me to come down immediately. I came down and she pulled me away from the scene. We observed that the sparrow returned back to its nest. We promised to each other that we will never disclose about the eggs to anyone else. We also promised to each other that now we will never climb to see the eggs lest bird will permanently abandon the nest. We could apprehend without explaining it to each other a fun for us would really put three lives on stake.

We were eagerly waiting to see the chicks coming out of the greenish blue eggs. We could see only one sparrow always in the nest, probably the mother sparrow. The father sparrow was coming but very rarely. It was not returning home even in evening. Nothing can replace mother’s selfless love. At this age, I am wondering whether a female by its instinct are only supposed to be responsible for the family. However during those times, I was justifying it with an umbrella of understanding that male are supposed to earn and female are supposed to take care of the family.  I had a concrete reason for it. I was comparing it to my father who was working in city and we were staying in village as per the wish of my grandmother. My father was visiting us once in a month time and so we could see the father sparrow hovering around the nest occasionally.  I could not find it unusual.

On a fine morning, I could see pieces of eggs skull spread on the ground. I rushed to my buddy,she came immediately and concluded that chicks came out of eggs.  We were fervently waiting for this day. Now we could see even mother sparrow hovering most of the time. My buddy climbed on to confirm, yes, there were three chicks. She did not have a trust this time and strictly warn me to climb on. She was afraid of my irresistible enthusiasm to warn me that the moment I will touch the chicks it will die. However, she did not forget to describe how it looked. Only one thing I remember her saying that they were too ugly to have a glance of them. I respected her instruction and never climbed on to them even in isolation.

We could observe, the routine of the mother sparrow was changed. Now father sparrow was not visiting at all. Mother sparrow was not absent from the nest for a long time. We were wondering what those little ones were eating. We started investigating. The mother sparrow was picking soft food grains. We could also see it was going to distant places and bringing something strange in its beak. For few days we kept observing and wondering. Finally we realized that it was the small insects the mother sparrow was hunting for its young one. We compared it to our non-vegetarian food that was appearing very tasty for us. Then finally probably after a fortnight my buddy allowed me to climb and see the chicks.  I climbed to see there were three chicks. They were ugly, budding wings were scarcely present and almost they had a bare body.  Their size was too small compared to full grown sparrow. Their eyes were closed. I was not excited to see them all.

However my buddy told me that all chicks of sparrows are like that. She also assured me that in few days when their wings will grow considerably to hide their body they will look beautiful. She also told me that after few days when they would have wings grown up, the mother sparrow will push the chicks out of the nest force them to learn how to fly and one fine day all of them will abandon the place. The mother sparrow will seek one more marriage alliance to give birth to another set of chicks. I started waiting for that moment. After few days we were able to hear feeble chirping sound of young ones. I could also hear the noises of their activities, especially the quivering of their small wings.

In spite of all the excitement we were worried that after few weeks they will abandon the place.  I was already deeply heartened by the so called unjustness of the God. There was not a single day when we were not discussing about how God had tied the legs of all sparrows with invisible string. I was observing how much hard work that particular sparrow was doing to feed her children, the three little chicks. On a fine morning we decided that we will help the little bird. We decided that we will put some food grain in the nest. I climbed up and put some grains of wheat. After few days we realized that those little young ones could not eat by themselves. Someone needed to feed them. We also speculated that wheat would not have so tasteful for them. Then finally we decided that we will hunt for insects that their mother was bringing for her.

The same day I climbed up again. I could see the wings were almost grown up. It was appearing beautiful. I hold that bird and brought it down. I could see the mother sparrow came from nowhere and started hovering around me. Initially my buddy scared me but she found it too sweet to get away with. We decided collectively that we will hunt for insects and then feed it properly. We went to the paddy field. We wandered on the elevated-grassy-line-of-separation between the paddy fields and found the kinds of insects the mother sparrow was hunting.

When we were alone in the neighboring paddy field one of our other friends saw us. They asked what we were actually doing there. Scared with the potential complain he would do, my partner wanted him to include him in mission sparrow to avoid any kind of disciplinary action against us. Initially that guy agreed however he fled away from there. Kids rivalry was ruling his mind and he had got a wonderful opportunity. On the other hand, we started feeding the bird. It was not in compromising mood and it was not accepting the food we were giving. We tried forcefully opening its mouth and feeding the insects. We were successful in letting it eat few insects. Finally we decided to return.

In the meantime the other guy who saw us went to my home and complained to my grandmother that I had stolen the young one of a sparrow from its nest. We were not speculating this complains and therefore happily returning to our home with the understanding that first thing we would do upon our return is to put the sparrow in its nest. However I could see my grandmother standing near Dalaan with that guy. I put the little sparrow in the pocket of my half paint and hold the right hand of my buddy with my left hand and started walking confidently towards my grandma. The other guy was too vigilant. He screamed, “look! He has put it into his pocket”. My grandma asked me what I was holding in my pocket. In my native place, if elders are given option then they are supposed to rather please the kids of others. My grandma did the same. She pressurized me to display the contents of my pocket. Finding no other option, I took out the sparrow.

My grandma observed that the sparrow was motionless and she screamed at me, “what you did with it. It is dead now.” We all saw it. It was really motionless. Instead of concern my buddy demonstrated a kind of hope. She said, “it is just unconscious. If we let it smell the cow dung, it will immediately wake up”. My grandma started scaring me, “It is a big sin to kill someone. Now God will definitely punish you. Only way you can get rid of the punishment is to behave like a real good boy”. She had something urgent and therefore she left that place. My buddy pulled me towards the cow shed of neighborhood. We went to the heap of cow dung and buried the beak of sparrow in it. We could see the activities in the sparrow. After a while we could see the little bird opening its eyes. We were elated and happy once again.

I reminded my buddy about the potential punishment that the God could award us. We decided to keep back the sparrow in its nest. I dragged the wooden chair from my Dalaan. This time my buddy held it stable. I climbed on it. While clinging with the supporting wooden pillar using my both hands and both legs I started pulling upward. I reached the nest and told my buddy to give me the sparrow. I put the already sick sparrow in its nest where its healthy siblings were trying to hide themselves unsuccessfully. I could see the mother sparrow hovering around us. I came down. The mother sparrow went to its nest. I could hear lots of fluttering, quivering and chirping.

A tender humanity had already given priority to four prospering lives in a beautiful adobe over the lust of humanity itself. My seven years old son has never noticed a sparrow from his conscious mind. If he happens to see it, I will definitely teach him that (a) he should not miss his dinner otherwise a flesh of the size of a sparrow will disappear from the body and (b) God could punish all naughty boys by tying their legs with an invisible strings like he did with the naughty sparrows.