A thoughtful short story

                                                    A fruitful wait
                      
                          “Life is beautiful only for those who have got a good financial support” I thought as I was seated impatiently in bus. I felt frustrated about spending five valuable hours travelling, doing nothing but grieving over my past. It was a pleasant evening and the path from Salem to Pollachi was quite refreshing. But would definitely be dreary for anyone who is trying to swim upstream in perplexities of life.  I've heard many philosophers brag about human mind. They claim that successful people have their minds like a pigeon’s cage. It has got many partitions which are compared to different scenarios of life. Mind has to be flexible enough to get changed according to each partition without being influenced by ups and downs occurring in different phases of life. But I mock at philosophers as laggards who do not dare to combat with different throes of life. Instead they keep spinning stories to transfigure somebody else’s life. But I can argue that it is highly impossible for a person to enjoy every moment of life concealing his troubles.

                           I took a deep breath inhaling the fresh air that gushed inside the bus through the windows. I would have dozed off; getting lulled by the cool breeze. But the pits on the road and nasty jerk of the bus interrupted my sleep. Now I had no other option other than getting drowned in pessimistic thoughts.

                          The bus was silent except for a kid who was wailing at the top of his voice. Almost everyone seated in the bus appeared frustrated because of the noise.

                          “What does your baby want? Why is he crying?” I threw two questions together to the baby’s father who was seated adjacent to me.

                          “He wants my cell phone. It’s a new one and I’m scared if he would throw it down” he said trying to pat his back.

                          “Oh!” I said and turned towards the window silently. Everyone has got something to cry for, I told to myself.

                           I leaned back on the seat, closing my eyes tightly and tried to sleep. Though my body was at rest, my brain waves were hyperactive. I regretted for some of my decisions which not only dwindled my monetary health, but also sucked out my morale. 

                           As a student I enjoyed solving word puzzles, vocabulary building, taking part in debates, writing competitions etc, while all my friends were working on their mathematical skills, aiming for top grade engineering colleges. But I always stuck on to my concept, “work is pleasure and not pressure” and I opted for English literature despite having a good engineering entrance rank. My love for English what had sprouted in me right from my childhood grew into a strong desire to be a writer. I did believe that one day I would be an appreciated writer even if not renowned. My scripts would handle social issues, attempting to infuse moral values, responsibilities, vigor in the minds of people. Thus I chose to be an English lecturer and believed that this profession would make a plenty of time to handle my scripts, rather than those tedious engineering courses and tiring IT jobs. As usual I had a group of people to drain my zeal, mocking at my decisions regarding my career. In recent times almost everyone wants to follow the herd, scoring a good engineering percentage and getting to be computer professionals or some sort of jobs parallel with engineering. I dint want my health, time and peace to be butchered in such kind of guillotine. So I kept writing short stories, novelettes, poems and had trials at every editor’s door, to get them published in popular magazines and books. The result was only disappointment. I really had no one to show me a good track for my creations. Even the very few people, who were supporting me, were losing their hopes on me. All my friends who took engineering are very busy, getting bungalows built and marrying lovely girls. Now my plight was worse than a beggar, skipping my meals to save money for paying the editors.

                         As I sat thinking about my wrong decision, I stroked Santhosh’s wedding photograph. Santhosh was my school topper. He had chosen mechanical engineering in a top grade engineering college and was placed in Indian Oil Corporation for a handsome pay. Many successful business people wanted him to marry their beautiful daughters. And this morning he was married to a crorepati’s daughter. It was a very grand luncheon at Salem and the invitees were treated with a wide variety of delicacies. Almost all my school mates were invited and they were all professionals with a sufficient income. Some of Santhosh’s closest associates tried to brush me out, because of my bad financial status. I realized that a man is recognized only by money, and only that could earn him respect. Santhosh had booked a return ticket for me in an air conditioned bus, with his associates, from Salem to Pollachi. But my conscience forced me to avoid the company of those money monsters and take an ordinary bus.

                        I bent down and looked at my robes. It was definitely not those to be worn for a wedding feast. I compared my status with that of Santhosh’s and tears started welling down my cheeks. I pulled out my hanky and rubbed them off quietly as I dint want to put a sorry show to the people sitting around me.

                       The kid beside me seemed to inflame my frustration by crying out very loudly for his dad’s cell phone.

                       “Mister!  Why don’t you do something to stop yours baby’s tears?” I said with my eyes turning red.

                        “I’m really sorry sir. He doesn't seem to get convinced. He wants my cell phone”.

                        “Why don’t you give it to him? I don’t think he’ll throw it down”, I said.

                         The man nodded his head and gave the cell phone to his baby. He took it and looked at me with a glee. For a moment I dint know what had happened to me, the hurdles which were fastened tightly within me got unleashed. The kid’s smile delivered a message to me. Of course everyone has got something to cry for, but only the person who cries untiringly will attain it. The kid had set an example to me. It is really not good to try up to one’s level best but to try until one attains it. I remembered an inspiring speech given by a famous orator. "When a panther is chasing a deer for its prey, the deer has prey. But for the deer it would mean its life". Thus, victory is attained more by determination than prowess or strength. I jerked my shoulders with a new energy and promised myself that I would never give up until I’m recognized as a good author.

                          After a journey with bizarre experiences, Pollachi bus stand arrived. It was around 8pm. I got out of the vehicle as a transformed man, refreshed with new hopes. I approached an auto driver to take me home.Usually I bargain a lot with the auto drivers, but that day I paid him as much as he asked. He dropped me at my simple doors and waved his hands with a broad smile. I reciprocated it and moved towards my home. I bent down to take my foot wear off my feet and noticed a small parcel and a letter lying near the door. The letter was from a popular publication. The editor had published my novel and my works will soon be in famous book stores. The parcel contained a red book entitled “Love, Lost and Found” by Ram Narayan, the first copy of my book.