THE BIRTHDAY - A Short story.

“When a dream is born,

It searches for and finds its creator.

If it discovers a true desire in him,

It starts to love his heart and mind.

When it sees its creator nearing an end,

With hopes abound, it gives its own life to the creator;

Thus making him rise again howbeit,

Weaving into shape, his broken spirits.

And what happens to the dream?

Will it die?

No, it won’t.

A dream doesn’t die.

It is revived once again,

Through the same creator’s desire and mind

-           Rebirth”

The clock struck 11.00 PM as Rishab opened the ‘Concise Oxford Dictionary’ application in his mobile and typed: ‘birthday’.

 ‘After all the searches, finally I had to look up you?’ he thought to himself and smiled sardonically.

The dictionary read: “The anniversary of the day, which a person was born”. He smiled to himself yet again - but this time on, with tears rolling down his cheeks. As if trying to suppress the upsurge of emotions in him, he let out his breath, and lifted his head up with closed eyes.  He felt the heaviness of the lump that had formed over the last few hours in his throat, and swallowed it.

“On this 25^th birthday of mine, I am going to give a new meaning to my ‘birthdays’ yet to come. It will be – the anniversary of the day that witnessed the end of Rishab’s long and tiresome journey carrying a bag full of idiotic dreams” Rishab said to himself.

Rishab was alone at home. His parents had left for Bangalore the previous day, where they worked. On a weekend, Rishab, who usually stays with his parents in Bangalore, had come along with them to their native place in Orissa, where they owned a house. But after the weekend, he had decided to stay back while his parents left, faking the need of his presence out there to run his errands; whereas in real, his intention was just to get some lone time.

With a pair of eyes which would overflow any moment with tears, Rishab looked at the framed image of his parents in front of him. Moving the picture from its usual location, he kept it on the top of the laptop table in front of him - he wanted to see his parents close to him when he leaves…

His visions were blurred for the eyes, but clear for his memories. Placing his right hand over the frame, he said,

“Dada, Moma… I am sorry that I failed you and I know that I should have listened to your words.

It’s too late for me now, to retrace my steps or build something new, as I am too tired of fighting. This life has become a war zone for me. 

I can do only this much for you – I won’t write again, I swear, and you will know that this would be my last work.

I can’t stay here anymore”  

With this, he brushed aside with the back of his hand, the transparent film of tears around his eye-balls, took his pen and writing pad from the shelf, and placed it on the laptop table. With the focus light ‘ON’, windows closed and lights turned off inside the room, his eyes riveted straight into the white paper clipped on the pad.

His hands started to race forward in its magnificent and royal font.

He started to write:

‘THE LAST NOTE:

Dad, Mom, I was living in a fool’s paradise till now. You were right. I should have secured my life with a safe and sound career before I ran behind my dreams. In spite of hearing your wise and experienced words, I fought against the odds; like a dramatic hero in some movies and stories. But at present I know how different real life is from those dramatic feats.

Yes, I realized it.

I couldn’t even complete my degree since I was hell bent on writing. I was trying to build a stand for myself, which was never mine to achieve. Dreams, farther from even my highest reach, was what that kept my motor running. I never knew or rather accepted that I wasn’t good enough.

You spent all that you had earned on me, and I still see that you are still struggling. All that you saved with meticulous planning and care, were put into my studies and welfare. I can’t believe that even at this age, you two are working in Bangalore when it’s high-time for your retirement.

I was an ignorant fool who never gave thought for the stress and strain you took in, trying to make my life successful. The rebel in me, even after knowing the truth, persuaded me to go for what I dreamt of and not even for a moment for the one that you had dreamt of since I was born.

Like an immature boy I wandered about the roads to my dreams, which were in reality, the roads never made or even better to say as roads that were never meant for me. I thought that I had the power. I thought I had in me, an intellectual point of thinking. I believed that I had the capacity to turn ink into beautiful blood, which would pump any man’s heart on following its strokes.

But on the face of truth, I have been a moron throughout!

There are some questions: Why didn’t I ever turn back and look at my failures? Why didn’t I scrutinize the results of my past? Why didn’t I introspect into my values?

I guess, the answers to these questions sums up to the amount of maturity I have had in me. Today, no miracle happened that changed me. Perhaps, if I had given life to these questions which were inside my head, but never allowed to pop up for my mind’s adamant nature, it would have made a difference in the past for every one of us. I would have lived for real. I wouldn’t have lived, allowing myself to imagine that clouds could be used as grounds to walk.  

“Chasing my dreams” – Huh, What a justification for intransigence that caused my own fall!

I didn’t even attend my arrear exams since I had thought that fame and acknowledgement would hug me and make me say, “That shit was never meant for me” 

And now? My last chance is gone to attend those exams and I will just remain as one 12^th grade pass till my last breathe. 


Am I famous? Am I a celebrity? At the least, a freelancer? Yes, I was one of every one of these in my ‘dreams improbable’ of my future days. But those future days never came to me at all, and the saddest part is, I knew it all along.

I was indulged in writing a novel that took two years for me to complete. And when I say two years, it means a hundred percent, barring the time I slept and ate. I saw every sentence that I wrote as beautiful, and believed that my readers would fall for the magic hidden in my words. I had this intuition that it’s a work which would get me recognized in the distinguished world of literature, that I thrived to be a part of. I was living under the shade of a world that I created on the paper, with my ink and time. I had thought that my work would be my ticket to freedom.

These beliefs were incessantly running in my head, until the day I realized that months had passed without even a single reply from those to whom I had sent my novel for publishing. None responded. No one saw what I had seen in my works.

Today, I know for certain that no publishers would have gone past even the first page of my so called ‘ticket to freedom’. It would have been just another item for their recycle bin, I guess. But for me, it was chunks of golden words, valuable enough to be stored in the safest locker of all the worlds. It was my sweat and blood. It was my joy and pain. It was my tears and laughs. It was my body and brain. It was ‘me’…..

But….. All that it gifted me with was a powerful realization that I was smug dreamer, a nobody….

When blind faith in something that I never had in myself was taking its toll over me, I received another blow.

I had loved one girl. You were the one to whom I first talked about it Dada. Like a hero, you supported me and advised me to make sure that I secure a good job after completing my graduation. You had also warned me that if I failed to do so, I would have to lose her at one stage of my life, no matter what my talent would have in store for me in future.

Her love for me was what I had believed as the perfect example for  the word ‘divine’. She had given me her body and soul.

An unconditional support was what she offered me, for my attempts to venture into the world of literature. But at a point when she started to realize that she may have to lose me for my precarious stand in life, she begged and cried to me. She pleaded to me that I search for a job. When her support turned into pressure, my love for her turned into a momentary irritation, which I never knew had the power to wreck the sails of the spirit in me. She had cried a lot. But I never paid heed to them. I showed my obstinacy over her gentle love and I started to see her as an impediment to my future dreams. My anger warded off her phone calls and my selfishness locked the gates to her love. My brain tried to reason with me, but I had closed my eyes so tight that its attempts rebounded off me. Now, today, I am closing my eyes even tighter, but for a different reason – to somehow stop her memories which are pounding my heart. They are blaming me. The image of her tear-filled eyes has started to flash in my head in every passing minute of my days. Dad, as you had said, I have lost her. Only when I saw the ‘grand’ reception of my novel, I got to know the magnitude of what I have done. I can never go back to my days of past and get her back.

I made a big mistake, and I am aware of the reality that her heart and body belongs to someone else now. But I need her and I miss her now…. And I have no idea how to put a barricade to these thoughts. What do I do? I am helpless.

Even as I write this letter, I can see her face in this white paper. Her tears are taking revenge on mine.

I am Sorry Dada. I am Sorry Mama. I never thought I would let you down like this. I have lost my face in front of you and made you lose your faces in front of our relatives. You earned respect and prestige with your hard work and ethos in this society. And I put them to risk, never knowing its real values. I should have listened to you and made things right.

I wish if I could edit my past, I wish if I could rephrase the happenings. My wishes are as impossible as the wishes of the trees living in a city, to go and be a part of the jungle.

You have never scolded me but I have seen you shedding tears silently. I wish I could undo those moments. Never have I felt guilty or anything wrong, whenever I faced you. I was engaged in my writing.  Every time I saw you sad or worried, I convinced myself saying, ‘Wait till you see how this is going to end’.

This is how it is going to end and this is how it has to end. Never have you missed wishing me on my birthdays. This time, you are not here with me. I created this scene deliberately, as I can’t do it in your presence - the horizons of your love and bondage are too strong to pass.

I will never have the strength to make up my mind to do this when you are near me. So, I have taken this chance as a cue for me, sent by God to Quit and surrender my life. I will never ever live as an obstacle for you. I will never live as a mistake in your life. The day I turn 25 will put a stop to my heart beat. I will lock the doors inside my heart which led me to fructifying my passions once and forever. I had so much to tell; so much to confess. But…. You know that am an egoist. I am an idiot. I am a coward.

I now know that I am a sinner, for only a sinner deserves such a treatment in life. Since long back, I knew that I was an unlucky guy. But I believed that there was something inside me that could make things work out afresh, like the spirit of a phoenix. Now I realize they were all ostentatious reasons to just live on; to move on, neglecting the truth. I should have known that I am just a mediocre guy who got bonuses here and there. I can’t blame anyone. I can only blame myself and for that I am ending this once and forever. I am leaving you all. I am leaving behind everything that I dreamed about once.

And now, the time has come - It’s 11.59 PM. I need to stop here Mom; I need to stop here Dad or else this letter of mine would become just like a wet towel with ink bloated all over it. The last thing I have to say is… Dad, I………

This was when Rishab heard his phone ringing. It read ‘Dad Calling..’ He put his pen down and looked at his mobile. He hadn’t expected it. The tremendous pressure and the culmination of emotions on reaching the final part of his letter, in a moment, turned into fear and anxiety.

Rishab, with trembling hands, attended the call. He managed to sort out his shivering voice and said, “Dada… Uh… What’s up?”

His dad said, “Rishab, son, I thought of calling you only in the morning to wish you. But……for some reason that I don’t know.. I just made this call.. I am feeling so uncomfortable out here without you……. The truth is that I couldn’t wait…… Now, leave all those things behind…..”

Rishab’s dad continued in an excited and a bit nervous tone, “Just do one thing. Go and open the chest beneath the table in my room. And then give me a call”.

Saying this, his dad abruptly cut the call. He sensed some rare nervousness in his dad’s voice and was confused.

He thought, ’Did he know?’

Rishab looked at the direction where the bottle of poison was kept. He then thought, ‘OK Dada, I get it. The last present, I suppose. I will open it up for you….

The last bit of satisfaction that I can give you’

Tiny drops of sweat had formed all over Rishab’s face by that time. His knee joints pained as he rose from his chair, like he had just unmounted his bike after a long drive. He slowly walked towards his father’s room. His head was fighting over his conscience. Rishab just couldn’t believe that he was about to get a present from his dad when he was all set to put an end to his life. Presents meant nothing to him then.

The door to his father’s room creaked open as he pushed it. He followed his father’s directions and reached the spot where the chest lay. The usual enthusiasm of a person, who is about to open a gift, was absent in him. Now that it felt like a burden of some sort to him, he wished to wrap up the show as soon as possible.

With fingers which hardly gave any sensations of touch, he opened it.

Inside the chest was one medium sized rectangular box, of the size of his hand, wrapped in silver gift paper, with writing over a red sticker above it. It read ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON’.

None of this was helping his mind which was stuck on his next move to end his life somehow. He opened the gift paper, and he was a flummoxed in doing so.

He didn’t know what emotion was running inside him. He felt like hot lava has been poured into his mouth which left him perceptible to the burning touches that it made inside his body.

Although he couldn’t quite figure out what the emotions were, it started to hit his mind like a hailstorm. His chest was burning as he un-wrapped it.

HIS EYES STARTED TO GLEAM - like a glass reflecting the early morning sun’s crescent outfit.

He saw his present. In front of him there was another cover tightly packed around some box, in such grandeur that his eyes actually stopped messaging his brain as to what he was seeing with it. He was wondering if it was a dream.

On top of it, it was written ‘MontBlanc Boheme Royal’. The next moment, his eyes started to search for what was inside, though he knew the name and its reputation very well.

He was a bit frantic and was trying to open the cover packet with jet-speed. As speed took control, the brain lost its power. He did not understand how to properly open it, as he started to fumble over it.

He stopped and sighed, trying to release the pressure, and started all over again. Finally, it was opened. Now, he had to open only the black box in front of him to get his present. His lackluster was history, ever since he read the name ‘MontBlanc Boheme Royal’.

He slowly opened the box, as if some feeble material made of glass lay in, which would crack into pieces, even for a slight bit of pressure on it. As his soft and gentle fingers opened it, he saw…. A pen sent directly from the heavens!

Rishab was stunned. He was breathless. Never had he seen such finesse and artistry in any other pens in his entire life. It was made of white Gold, he learnt from the description of it on the cover. He always wanted to own such a pen, but he knew not what to do with it, when his hands touched one. He kept it in the box and sat on his haunches. He then pressed his hand against his head, and started to scratch it. He was calling on his mind to come back and help him get a grasp on what he was thinking of. But his conscience was playing its trick and the present moment, which had him shocked and made him reach cloud nine, was ruling his actions.

Beneath the box, there was one single piece of paper, kept folded. He took it and opened it up in haste. He was wondering now as to what might hit him next. He could hear his own heart beat, which was running at its ‘all time best’ pace.

It was his Dad’s handwriting. It read:

‘Son… first of all, we are sorry to have not supported you enough by your dreams. You have always had that flair and talent in you.

It’s just that our eyes weren’t that good at convincing our hearts. 

Forgive us... We are old folks, son……

Rishab could imagine his Dad chuckling when he read that. He continued to read from it.

We have had fights and arguments over these years. I contemplated why most of it happened. Son..... I am tired of trying to carve you into shape. Like a tree, you will grow up on your own. We did our part of taking care of you when you were young and vulnerable to persuasions. But now, we can’t decide on what you would become and how you would look like, when you grow up.

We want to see you happy and if writing does that, then yes… We would like to see you write till we die.

You are our only son and we are proud of it. And when it’s only one, it better be special. That is every parent's dream. 

And yes, you are special and gifted.

You have the capacity to conquer this world with your pen and thoughts, and we have faith in you. We will stand alongside you and see you win - I can bet my entire savings on that.

Do not worry about time and age – I say this, because nowadays I see you brooding over the days that pass by. 

Son, Days can’t be lost as days were never ours to lose. But a day can be made. And your name can be written on it. 
Remember that, Oh writer!

So, cheer up. If you really wish to, join Arts colleges and do a degree in journalism or literature. We are ready and we don’t have any problems with that. You are young and you have time. But don’t waste your time thinking about how you wasted your time in the past. Just keep the dice rolling and one day you will win the jackpot. We know that we can’t talk you through some engineering or MBBS. It was our mistake to have not given a thought properly, as to what you really wish to become. And now, we have decided to straighten things up.

Let’s start afresh son. These decisions from our end are not because of pressure or helplessness - But in fact, from tiredness of being the cowards trying to gag the society, or hide from it. We wish to face it. They didn’t finance our daily bread. So, to hell with them!

Without his knowledge, a smile dawned in Rishab’s lips.

To make the busy and chaotic world notice you, you have to shoot your talents at it as non-stop attempts. As the world is big, perhaps it might not get the impact with one single attempt from you. But then, try again. If it doesn’t notice, try again and again till it realizes and rewards your perseverance and will power; and also, you will see that you improved. The world will surely honor you one day, by portraying your face as an example of success, attained through hard work and fortitude, to all the people living in it.

 Lend your ears to what the world says about you, and never despair and get controlled by them, because winners are made from their failures and experiences. 
And God won't hear your cries, unless you tried.  

“EVER TRIED.  EVER FAILED.  NO MATTER.

TRY AGAIN. FAIL AGAIN. FAIL BETTER.”

These are words by Samuel Beckett. Remember them.

All the very best my dear son! Smile….. and be happy. That’s all we want to see.

Hope you liked the present.

You are our treasure. 

GO, Start writing.

Love,

Mom and Dad’

Rishab’s dad had already started calling him to his phone. His phone was vibrating and ringing throughout. He didn’t pick up the call. He stood in the same spot for some time. Then he walked, holding the still-ringing phone in his hand, like a spectre in his house, up and down. He went to the hall and sat in the cushion knowing not how to respond or what to do. He wept silently. At times, he gawked at the tiled floors with an open mouth. His dad kept on calling him. But, he never picked up.

After some half an hour or so, Rishab got up, brushed aside his tears and with a resolute mind, went back to his room. He had to end what he had started. ‘I should not waver anymore’, he thought. Minutes of silence had given him the strength to carry out his task – he had decided. He had made up his mind to say goodbye to the failures of his past.

All that his dad had wrote in his letter, kept on playing in his mind. His heart was beating very fast.  He started to focus on his letter.

Rishab kept aside the pen which he had used to write till then, and took out his new pen that his dad had presented him with. And he held it ready to write.. 
The nib of his new pen was ready to engage on its first flight, and the final combat of the day. He was seeing the calls in his mob. Also his landline was ringing. He did not pay any attention to them and decided to write the last sentence of his note to his parents.

He had firmly decided and was convinced that no force would be good enough to persuade him to change his mind again - a change of decision was impossible for him now.

He heaved a huge gush of air. And with a stern heart and mind, he wrote the remaining of what he had left behind, before going to fetch the present.

He looked at the pen for a few seconds. Silent tears dripped from his chin and his eyes forgot its usual instinct to blink as it searched for an image to focus on...

His bearings looked stern and steady and he retained his writing posture.

‘This is how it ends’, he thought, with lips which wore a smile, curled to one end.

After keeping the pen in the same spot for a while where he had stopped before, he wrote the last line:

“Yes, I change the meaning of my 25^th birthday - The day I was reborn….”

Writing this, he tore away the letter into pieces and immediately took the mobile in his hand to call his dad back…. He dialed, and his dad picked up the phone within literally no time….

Rishab heard his dad panting.

“R.. Rih.. Rishab where were you… what happened to you and… we tried calling you for……”, Rishab’s dad on attending the phone said, stammering and tensed.

Rishab cut short his dad’s words and said in a soothing and gentle tone,

“Daaada… Listen….

“I love you two and I ……………… and….. I,AM BACK, ALIVE”

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                                                                   THE END