Some inspiring stories

[fake_Bezawada]

“I was born into an orthodox upper middle-class Muslim family. When I was 15, my father gave me Rs. 2000 and asked me to start a business. I ran away to my uncle’s house. I wanted to study. In the next few years, family obligations got in the way and I chose not to go abroad to study. After working as a bartender for a while (much to my father’s chagrin), I landed a job in aviation, fell in love with an air hostess, and committed myself to my work.

 

I got an opportunity in Kuwait and decided to take it. A week before my flight, I met my friend who asked me if I’d be willing to accompany him on a visit to his house in Andhra Pradesh. We had to leave immediately as he had to pay his sister’s college fee. One kilometre before we reached, a sand lorry reversed blind and rammed right into us. My leg got stuck in the bike but my friend got caught between the lorry’s tyres. He died that day in my arms, and I couldn’t do anything. I screamed while was taken to the hospital. My right foot had severe injuries, nerve damage and was just hanging from a small bit of skin. The doctors saved my foot but were not sure whether I would be able to walk again. When my girlfriend visited, she told me we weren’t meant to be with each other after all. I was broken. I went into depression. I attempted suicide.

It was my Ammi who saved me. Why should I live, I asked her. I had lost a friend, a girlfriend, a job, and maybe would never walk again. What was left? Why do you need someone who will only support your happiness, she replied. That day, I decided to move on. Lying in bed, immobile, I realised I had only one big regret – being unable to follow my passion for the arts. The weight of the regret was far worse than the physical pain. Post one year, when I finally walked on my feet, I decided to script a different story.

I moved to the UK to study. I worked in supermarkets and earned myself a double Masters. One day, I got introduced to the world of conceptual photography and started adding pictures to my words. I found my calling in the camera. Today, I am a photographer in Bengaluru but my father doesn’t like my profession. He has not spoken to me for over three years, but I am sure he would come around.

I also love to travel on my bike, I just returned from a Bhutan trip. After all, life has given me a second chance. Why wouldn’t I live it to the fullest?”

[fake_Bezawada]

story -2:

 

My mother started work with me when I was forty days old. She used to place me near the kitchen and did her work as housemaid. When I grew up our struggle was even more difficult. We had no money to buy clothes in a year or to cut my hair in months. As a housemaid she only got food as wage. The food my mother got for her often gave me by saying she had headache and had no appetite for food.

I was too small to understand that she was hungry too. I was bullied for my long hair and it was not possible to tell anyone that we have no money to go to barber. My mother was my barber. She used to cut my hair and it always turned out messy. She tired a lot to make it perfect and then she would say, ‘When the other side will grow it will be even’. Then we laughed together realizing it will never be even. I learned to work by cutting hair of poor children like me. My mother was my instructor. It’s been

My mother was my instructor. It’s been forty five years I am working as a barber. I first started work under a tree. During work, my mother stayed with me. She had a habit of calling poor children and telling me to cut the hair for free. I was always annoyed on her because most days we earned nothing. I told her that nobody remember any favor. But Maa always said, ‘Everyone remembers love’.I have a shop now. And my mother died years ago.

I have a shop now. And my mother died years ago. Still I give free hair cut to poor children. But none of them come back to me when they grow up. Sometimes I wondered how wrong my mother was, no one remembers love. Last year a young man came to my shop, smiled to me like he knew me for years. When I smiled to him, he hugged me. Still I was not recognizing him. He told me that he lives in Saudi. He is a construction worker. But I could not recognize him. He brought out a prayer mat and expensive blanket, asked me if he can meet my mother. I found out that, he is one of the boys we gave

I found out that, he is one of the boys we gave free hair cut under that tree. He was impatiently waiting to go to meet my mother and then I told him that maa had died. After some silence he started crying like a child. He told me that no one ever valued him as an orphan; no one even stopped him and asked him if he needed anything. My mother always went to him and asked him to come with her to cut his hair. After the young man left, I pray in the prayer mat that he brought for my mother. During my prayer I was hearing my mother, she was telling me, ‘Everyone remembers love’.

[fake_Bezawada]

“It’s very difficult for my wife to move. That’s why I cook. I have to cook for two of us. It’s not very difficult to do. Only difficulty is watching my wife in the bed all the time. That’s why I bought a small laying chair and placed it near the kitchen. I usually bring her there during cooking time and ask her to tell me how to cook. She smiles and complains how I forget about silly things.

I tell her as long as she is there to remind me I will continue to forget things. She will pinch me by saying soon I have to remember things on my own. I do not reply to that. Often times she asks me why I do not put green chilly in the lentil. I remind her it’s prohibited for her to have spice. It’s been six years we are not having chillies in the curry. Sometimes we go outside in the yard. She tells me how much she wants to walk; I do not reply to that, I just quietly sit beside her. It’s very painful to lie to the one you love.

During last festival I bought her a saree and told her our son sent it for her from the city. Whole day she held it with her chest. I asked her to give it to me, so I can keep in the almirah but she refused. When we were having dinner she asked, ‘Why do you always buy white sarees?’ I could not look into her eyes because I knew if I looked at her she will know it all. So I looked away and heard her saying, ‘You can never lie to me.’ Yes, I never can. I do not know how long she will survive.

But I want her to live with me for forever. People heartlessly tell me it is better to die than suffering. I never let her know that. I want her to be with me till the end. When I go outside I lock her inside our house. After I return I fearfully open the door, I shake in fear, I quickly want to enter and see if she is okay, if she is awake. Until I hear, ‘Have you returned?’ my heart keeps beating fast. And then I find her sitting on our decade old bed asking me what had happened. Then I feel my world is safe. I cannot tell her I am afraid to lose her, very very afraid to lose her. I do not know how to live in a world where Nazma will be no more.”

[fake_Bezawada]

Story 4:

 

“We always wanted a daughter. But we have three sons. I often told my wife only fortunate have daughter. I am working as a rickshaw puller for more than thirty years. Most of my passengers were bad tempered. They always scolded me. One morning a father hired me to take his daughter to the college. He requested me to be careful in the road. He told his daughter to hold the rickshaw tightly.

Before we left he told me to go slowly so the girl may not get hurt. On our way after sometime I heard the girl was crying insanely. I tried to look back and wanted to ask her if everything was okay. She scolded me and warned me not to look back. After a while she asked me to stop and started calling someone by her phone. She was screaming and crying all the time. I understood she supposed to escape from home with a boy. He did not show up. Suddenly she jumped from the rickshaw, left the money in the seat and quickly went to the train line. I was about to leave, felt for the father and thought it may be good not to have a daughter.

But I was not able to paddle further; I heard her father was requesting me to be careful. I parked my vehicle and ran for the girl. She was in the rail line, moving like a sick person to harm herself. I went near to her and requested her to go back with me. She yelled at me, called me uneducated stupid, in between she kept crying insanely. I was afraid to leave her in that empty place. I let her cry, as much as she wanted.

Almost three hours we were there and rain was about to come. Before the rain starts she got up and asked me to bring the rickshaw. We did not talk about anything. In the rain I paddled quickly. I dropped her near her house. Before I left she stopped me and said, ‘Uncle, you should never come at my place again, never tell anyone you know me.’ I lowered my head and returned to home. That day I did not talk to anyone, I did not eat anything. I told myself it was better not to have a daughter.

After more than eight years, very recently I had an accident. I was kind of senseless. Public took me to the hospital;. When I got back my sense I saw the girl was working near me, she asked me how I was feeling, why I never went to meet her. It was hard for me to recognize the girl in white dress, in spectacle and stethoscope. My treatment went well. I was taken to a big doctor. I was listening to her telling him, ‘Sir, he is my father’.

The old doctor told her something in English. Then she touched my injured hand and replied him, ‘If this father did not support me in the past, I won’t be able to become a doctor’. I was lying in a narrow bed and tightly shut my eyes. I cannot tell anyone how I felt. This rickshaw puller has a daughter, a doctor daughter.”

[fake_Bezawada]

LTT

[sandie]

Goodpost

[fake_Bezawada]

22 hours ago, sandie said:

Goodpost

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