Who writes our Destiny?-(Blog-a-ton 6)

 This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

There are two reasons why I like this picture.One of the reasons why I love this picture is because this is exactly how we begin when we decide to do start something. Our heads resting are resting on our wrists; a pen which is moving only in random directions and eyes pondering around, looking for inspiration. I was sitting exactly like this when my dotting mom came into my room with a huge (really huge) plate of Gajar ka Halwa.

"Beta, you still haven't eaten the Halwa I made" 

"Yes ma, I will eat it but now I am writing, please let me concentrate!" 

"Eat the Halwa, you will think better" she joked.

I kept the plate besides the laptop, eating a spoon between long intervals of roof gazing. My imagination seemed to have been lost in the Ghee laden Gajar ka Halwa. Another reason why I can’t think when there is food around me is because my mom gets very finicky about me finishing the food. To be honest I would love to finish every plate she gave me, but for that I would need another stomach. So I decided to take the escape route.

The escape route is a small dustbin which is strategically placed very close to my study table. Let me explain, my mom comes from a generation which thought that more food means a smarter kid; (I will definitely agree with the smart kid thing, but they seem to forget, rather conveniently the obese dimension of the kid too) so when I sit to study, there is always something special on the plate.

So well I took the escape route, and the rest of the Gajar ka Halwa went in to the dustbin. What I didn’t know was that, my mom was right at the door watching me take the escape route.

“The Halwa wasn’t good?”

“Mom it was brilliant, the only thing was that it was too much”

“Then I believe you have a mouth to speak out”

“Mom, you get upset when I say that”

“And you think this wouldn’t upset me?”

“Mom!” I shouted, got up from the table with a jerk; a couple of books and stationary fell off the table. I stormed out of the house. I don’t know why I did it, but I was very upset at the constant nagging and fuss made about food at my house.

I ran down the flight of stairs and sat on a bench near the gate of the society. This was one place I came to, to cool down my temper. The open air, the shade of the trees and a rear dry leaf falling from them, this place was always a great leveller for me.

“What happened sahib?” Chotu asked

Chotu was a fruit seller; he always came near our society gate at the end of his day. He was also fond of the shade below the trees, and it also made a great place for him to take account of how much he had earned through the day.

“You don’t seem to be in a good mood?” he asked.

“I am ok, Chotu. How was your day?”

“I made 150 rupees today”

“Hmm not bad huh Chotu”

“Really? How much does the Biryani cost at Hyderabad House?”

“I don’t remember Chotu, may be a hundred thirty or something, why?”

“I have a dream. One day I will eat the Biryani at the Hyderabad house, I heard it is very good. But I don’t think the day is today, my drunken father will take this 150 from me”

 He left with a twinkle in his eyes hoping to have a meal he could only dream about, while I was left wondering, how different our lives are. Here was a boy who longed for luxuries of life, while I made a fuss & threw tantrums, when life itself was offering me everything at its best. While arguing with my mother in the heat of the moment I forgot to be thankful to The Almighty for blessing me with everything one could wish for. 

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

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