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Tea Shop at Narkanda
His name was Birju. He was a young boy of sixteen years who had just passed out of high school and had come to Shimla searching for survival and a better future. He had left his wrecked house back in the hills and was not interested at all in returning to his native village. That awful flash-flood of the cloud-burst in the upper regions of the hills had devoured everything that belonged to him. His parents, his two brothers, his sister, his house, and even his land and his fields, everything had been swallowed by the cruelty of nature.
The effect of the cloud-burst was so strong that most of his land on the slope had been washed away. Giant boulders rolled down from the hilltops and caused serious damage to the people and their properties. A number of villagers had become the story of the past and those who luckily survived, had to move away.
I had been observing him passing his time roaming about for two weeks. I saw him standing outside the Railway Station or near the Bus Station watching the porters helping tourists carry their heavy luggage. Perhaps he thought of taking up that job to make his living.
I saw him looking at the school children going to the school with their school bags. Perhaps he missed his school and his companions back home in his village.
Many a time I saw him looking at the books in the showcases of the bookshops at the Mall Road. He would also stand outside the Coffee House to listen to the gossip of babus who assembled there every evening. He enjoyed watching tourists taking horse rides at the Ridge, eating Softy Ice-Cream, buying expensive garments and books, entering the Gaiety Theatre or just going to the bars to have their evening drink.
But perhaps the parapet next to the State Library was his favourite place where I usually saw him sitting and reading some old newspaper. After it was dark he would continue reading in the light of the electric bulb emerging from the pole next to the Church. Where would he go for sleeping? To my surprise next morning again I would see him somewhere in the town.
His plan was not to return to his village but to dig out his future from the world outside his native place. He had no idea how hard the life was going to be and how malicious the world could be. How many trails he would have to pass through to achieve his goals, he could not know. He was unaware of the hardship of the city life. Although nature had snatched everything from him, he still had planned to fight and prove his worth. I saw big dreams floating in his eyes.
Life ahead for him was a big challenge. With nothing in hand he was going to fight it out. The body requires at least two meals a day. The body needs rest. There are many other necessities of life. It was not Birju’s fault that even before he had started to understand the world, he now needed to know how to survive. At this tender age he was deprived by nature, the almighty. Why? Was it his fault that he was born in the hills? Or was it his fault that he was not from the clan that knows how to cheat? He was not the controller of the time.
It happens many times to us when we are left with nothing. No house, no food and no money. But time never stops. It goes on. Life goes on. Sun rises and sets. For everyone the day brings only twenty-four hours, weeks arrive with seven days, a month with four weeks and a year with twelve months. People keep running from pillar to post. Nothing stops. Days come and go. Months pass and become years but the wheel of time keeps rolling. Man grows up leaving his childhood behind entering his youth. Then he becomes old and older and finally leaves for his heavenly abode.
We cannot control time but, we can manage it.
The effect of the cloud-burst was so strong that most of his land on the slope had been washed away. Giant boulders rolled down from the hilltops and caused serious damage to the people and their properties. A number of villagers had become the story of the past and those who luckily survived, had to move away.
I had been observing him passing his time roaming about for two weeks. I saw him standing outside the Railway Station or near the Bus Station watching the porters helping tourists carry their heavy luggage. Perhaps he thought of taking up that job to make his living.
I saw him looking at the school children going to the school with their school bags. Perhaps he missed his school and his companions back home in his village.
Many a time I saw him looking at the books in the showcases of the bookshops at the Mall Road. He would also stand outside the Coffee House to listen to the gossip of babus who assembled there every evening. He enjoyed watching tourists taking horse rides at the Ridge, eating Softy Ice-Cream, buying expensive garments and books, entering the Gaiety Theatre or just going to the bars to have their evening drink.
But perhaps the parapet next to the State Library was his favourite place where I usually saw him sitting and reading some old newspaper. After it was dark he would continue reading in the light of the electric bulb emerging from the pole next to the Church. Where would he go for sleeping? To my surprise next morning again I would see him somewhere in the town.
His plan was not to return to his village but to dig out his future from the world outside his native place. He had no idea how hard the life was going to be and how malicious the world could be. How many trails he would have to pass through to achieve his goals, he could not know. He was unaware of the hardship of the city life. Although nature had snatched everything from him, he still had planned to fight and prove his worth. I saw big dreams floating in his eyes.
Life ahead for him was a big challenge. With nothing in hand he was going to fight it out. The body requires at least two meals a day. The body needs rest. There are many other necessities of life. It was not Birju’s fault that even before he had started to understand the world, he now needed to know how to survive. At this tender age he was deprived by nature, the almighty. Why? Was it his fault that he was born in the hills? Or was it his fault that he was not from the clan that knows how to cheat? He was not the controller of the time.
It happens many times to us when we are left with nothing. No house, no food and no money. But time never stops. It goes on. Life goes on. Sun rises and sets. For everyone the day brings only twenty-four hours, weeks arrive with seven days, a month with four weeks and a year with twelve months. People keep running from pillar to post. Nothing stops. Days come and go. Months pass and become years but the wheel of time keeps rolling. Man grows up leaving his childhood behind entering his youth. Then he becomes old and older and finally leaves for his heavenly abode.
We cannot control time but, we can manage it.
134 pages, Paperback
First published January 10, 2017
9 people want to read
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