surname

I heard this place is den for few great writing talents and breeding ground for some newbie’s. So I decided to try out my story here. Hope you all will listen to my story; the story of my own 16+ years of life. Look at the story, not the one who tells the story. What difference does it going to make; if this story teller is a mere 40 kilogram of skeleton covered with few meters of skin, he has dried & split lips engraving his nicotine coated teeth.


Hmmm… shall I begin as long long ago, so long ago? This is how story begins 16 yrs before, which my aai use to tell then. Here is where I born, the busiest city and the commercial capital of our nation. Born, so as to upkeep its runner-up position in the population race. Even my aai don’t know who my father is. Koi m@***$^~t woha! I was born to her, when she was thirteen. And no one there for her then. All her life she lived as a bastard child. That’s her only identity. And, I was born as one too. Bastard! What else could our surname be? In fact, I first gave 'bastard' as the title for my story; considering the decorum of this blog space, I later changed it.


I am thankful to my mom. She didn’t abandon me. She was a nice singer. If our only Oscar winning man heard her voice any time, she would also have won one. She is a smart business women, she marketed her begging with her nice voice & me as her working partner. Until my age of 7, I didn’t have much of problem as we earned enough for our day to day Vada pav & cutting chai. Khabhi khabhi biryani.


Unlike other day, that day she was late to wake up. In fact, she never woke up. Don’t know if I cried specially for her, as crying is all she thought me so that we can get good collection in our business. Corporation’wala took her away from me in their ghaadi. But that day doing my routine crying in front of her gave me good income than normal days.


Then I continued our family business alone. Some offer money. Some don’t. But what really irritates me was when some stops other when they were about to give. They blamed me as chor, cheat, etc, etc. & reasoning that they should not waste their hard earned money as if they deserve what all GOD gave them. I agree, I am cheat, chor aur jo bhi. If you don’t want to your hard earned money to end up in the hands of chor, cheats, etc. why do you people pay taxes?

Surprised I am speaking politics? Last month election chal raha thaa naa.. I used to observe a little. Even I heard some scandal about our Rastrpathi’s son some days before.


When I was 10 years old, a man came dressed full length. Took me in his van, where some other boys & girls like me were there. Gave chocolates, biryani, new dress, sabh.. sabh.. First time I gave pose to photo with that new dress along with some goraa forienger lok. Sochaa ki, ab life settle hain. But I along with few other boys escaped from there. Bathaa kyun? Raath ko… the one who took us said they will play a game with us… That game pained like a hell in my @*&.


Then life moved just like that, I developed my skills in chorifying & started earning good money, gave up my begging business gradually. Then someone came with big promise, good food & took us. Magar Kaminey, mera ek kidney chooraa liya & threw me back. After that I don’t trust people. Whenever, someone come pretending to offer me help, I go with them and rob them before they rob something from me. Lesson learnt! For me it’s only kidney, to one of dosth they plucked the eye.


Did I make you wait too much for the heroine entry of the story? My life too had a heroine entry. She also my type, same surname “Bastard”. Yet “my Jaan” that’s how I used to call her. She was prettier than dirty picture’wali & more cute than Sheila ki jawani wali. Hey, kya?? Sach mein yaar! Make them to stand near my jaaaaannn, with no cream-veem, Mera item sabko marengi!

First time when I saw her kuch shock laga. Magar o shock achcha laga! We got along with each other. We made it a habit of having our food together. First time someone really spend time with me with no expectation and whole heartedly. We went to theatres, beach, etc. Life was nice, when I was with her. I gifted one of the stolen mobile to her.

In between, I started visiting mama ka ghar, police station quite often. First couple of visits was for my own guilt, then mostly for reason I never knew. Bathaa nahi, what name they had written in police record for me. But they use to call me with my surname “Bastard”. I used with cigarette and alcohol almost since my aai left me. But during my recent visit to jail, ek dosth gave me kuch syringe ka maal. Felt really good much better than alcohol, but didn’t want to continue with it.

When I came back from jail that time, I had a fight with my jaan for my frequent visit to police station & we didn’t spoke for some days. I missed her so much. Magar, I didn’t go and speak to her. After all I am boy.. apna ijath ka baath naa.. I tried to forget her with the syringe maal. Little expensive, but it made me forget her and the whole dhuniya, at least for time being.

Almost three-four months later, ek din, I didn’t have money for the maal. A person came and asked me, if I can take a small parcel until a particular station in local train. Advance mein, he gave solid amount. As I was taking the parcel, I received a call in my mobile. It was my jaan…


She cried and said she want to meet me immediately. I got down in the very next station. Her crying sound made me mad, I took a direct taxi from there to meet her; Later I realized I forgot the parcel in the train as I was desperate to see her.

I met her, she cried– I cried, actually first time I actually cried. Around late evening, the city started to go into a panic mode as at least it goes once in a year. Some bomb blast in a local train. We decided to spend time together & spoke a lot sitting inside that big pipe kept for a drainage construction. Then we did something, which we never done before. Actually my friends go to a place near the beach to do that & they told me we need to give money for women to do that. Just she said next time I have to bring something, which has to be used while doing that. I queried what that is. She whispered in my ears. Then I remembered even my friends suggested I should use that without fail if I go to that beach place.


Am I taking too long? Will finish now. Like all your stories, even I wish to have a happy ending for my story as I tell this. But even in my fiction or imagination I don’t know what it is all about which you consider as happiness. And unsure if I ever have that happy ending for my story. Look at me, this is my only but short time happiness, the state as I am lying is my happiness now. Heeeeee………… could you see? Could you see? A syringe penetrating my vein along the elbow –a rubber band to hold it. Sorry!!! Did u ask what this rubber band for? He.. he.. don’t you know this? The slower the drug gets in to the vein, the longer the happiness...


Wait! Wait! I know you are eager to know what happened to my jaan. Now, she is 6 month pregnant. I have some hope in this life that somehow, don't know how but...may be someone will come... lift me & do some miracle to get rid of this kachrapatti & my months of this drug addiction. Just for one wish, I want to live, live like all you; I don’t mean your facilities & life styles by that. I just don’t want my child carry the same surname as me, my aai or my jaan.

Wait a minute! Someone calling.…

 

umaakumar,

firstly, a big thanks to you for such a frank and honest feedback; it could have easy to just walk off saying its a depressing blog. but you have took time to give your POV.

my sincere appology that this blog depressed you (may be much early hours of your day)

i am considerably new in IL and just learning to write stories... may be due to my inexperience, i had failed to make the point which i was try to make more clearly even such depressing and less privileged charecter has the same wish as any of us i.e. giving better name & living for his kid

your feedback, will indeed help me to improve when i take such sensitive topics again. please do give your inputs regularly.

once again sorry & thanks

 

thanks pallavi,

for you comment & appreciation.

yea, this kind of stories would easily make us sulk. as everyone else, even i wish these things end.

one of the reasons, why i tried this story is, as u may aware i am not used up to write stories. so its kind of trick to hide my inexperience by telling the story in a street boy's pov.

 

கொஞ்சம் மிகைபடுத்திய வார்த்தைகள்... ஆனாலும் நன்றி பாதசாரி

 

Vishwa,

I could add many questions from my end to you, both in terms of the story & reality.

but, rather than a filmy ending, i try to end the story with a much important factor called "hope" ... which could be change factor in such cases.

Thanks for your inputs & fb, the first line of which is undeserving for me.