(This is the work of fiction. The incidents presented here shouldn’t be related with the author’s or any other person’s life.)

 

Sunday. 6:30 am. It is a nice sunny weather outside. A boy unlocks the gate of his home and comes out on the road walking to the nearby Amul Parlor to buy milk. He is wearing shorts. He walks steadily enjoying the sunny atmosphere. This is his day’s start. Every day’s. He looks like a happy soul cradled in nature’s arms. The credit of his being on his way to the Parlor goes to his mother because she’s waken him at 6 otherwise he would have been still sleeping as he didn’t hear his alarm ringing at 5 and switched it off unconsciously. Now he reaches the Parlor and is buying the milk and at the next moment he is on his way back to his home.

He takes his bath and completes his other daily chores. Praying. His mother once told him, “Praying needs to be done everyday. We cannot forget the creator who gave us this beautiful life and who gives us energy to manage our daily duties.” So he prays, everyday, but he doesn’t demand anything from God. He is totally satisfied with the life he’s got.  After praying he, now, is taking his breakfast. His face has not yet indicated any hint of nervousness or tension; whether it’s present or not I don’t know but let me assume it’s absent for now because he seems fair enough in his behavior, not hiding anything.

Then he goes to his bedroom and picks one of the novels from his study cupboard. The Book Thief. He hasn’t any extra workload as it’s Sunday today. So he starts reading that book. He seems to be the reader devoted to and hungry for the novels which can provide him some depth and not only the superfluous enjoyment, though he likes the latter ones he forces himself hard to avoid them unless he is very bored. He enjoys his read very much and reacts to the situations in the novel in his mind by laughing, shocking or steaming but sometimes they also peep out from his face.

It has been quite a long time since he started reading. Maybe two to three hours. His mother calls him for the lunch at noon. He takes the lunch talking with her about what he feels about the novel, describing what he has read in it till now. The life seems content though they are alone. They don’t have relatives any more but they had a few years back when they had the family. But after the divorce of his mother they are living alone, without their family but they don’t want one as it seems from the way they have adopted the way of life. Who’s he? Niket.

Now he is again going to his bedroom. He sits there for a few minutes thinking what he should do now. He just thinks of taking a nap and he may also think in his nap what he should do. He wakes after twenty minutes. He’s decided to write – a story. So he takes his diary and puts the date on the page – October 2, 2016. He starts writing about M.K. Gandhi, not Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi but some Munjal K. Gandhi – the protagonist of his story he’s thought of. He knows that today is the BIRTHDAY of Gandhiji. He knows that the Gandhi is with him each day and he had not been shot dead. So it’s always BIRTHDAY. But now he only wants to focus on Munjal Gandhi. After two hours he finishes his story. He put his diary along with the five other diaries which also are full of his magical words and beautiful handwriting. He has not shown anyone his writing yet, exceptional case being to his mother.

He then does some other works and then his mobile comes to life and the sweet rhythm of flute feels the atmosphere with soothing positivity. It is Ani on the other side of the call. Ani – his only friend – BOY-friend. His name is Ani and it’s not his abbreviated name or the second name. They meet almost every evening and go on strolling. It always freshens Niket’s mind and his only BOY-friend’s also. By the evening he comes home.

He’s eating now again with his mother, contently, without any complaints. Then he watches a few TV shows. It is not that the segregated cannot have enjoyment in their lives. So he is enjoying watching the TV shows. He again goes to his bedroom at 10 p.m. and picks up the novel. He reads a few pages but he feels sleepy and sleeps – the book on his head still in his hands and the light on. At 1 a.m. his mother wakes and puts the book on his desk. Before switching off the light she looks at him. Not any tension or nervousness yet. She is now switching off the light smiling from her inner heart.